


The Black Herald

by Sealie



Series: The Black Herald [1]
Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Depression, Flashbacks, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Suicidal Ideation, lifebond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-14
Updated: 2017-05-21
Packaged: 2018-10-31 20:03:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 29,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10906485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sealie/pseuds/Sealie
Summary: How does a highly trained Battle Mage survive the death of his Companion?





	1. L'appel du vide

**Author's Note:**

> Rating: slash  
> Warning: deals with mental illness, depression, suicidal ideation, grief, mourning, flashbacks and PTSD. Plus unreliable narrator and potty mouth.  
> Spoilers: none
> 
> Notes:  
> 1\. **Happy ending**  
>  2\. To everyone that fights this fight I hope you have your own Danny in your corner.  
> 3\. The fantasy au ‘verse in this story is Mercedes Lackey’s Heralds of Valdemar ‘verse.  
> 4\. My alpha readers and my brilliant beta, Springwoof, none of whom are familiar with the ‘verse, found the story accessible.  
> 5\. Mercedes Lackey is okay with fanfic [http://www.mercedeslackey.com/news.html].  
> 6\. I have not included any characters from Mercedes Lackey’s series. Consider this an AU, so-to-speak, i.e. a derivative work of the fantasy series.  
> 7\. British English spelling. 
> 
> Disclaimer: writing for fun not for profit.
> 
> Beta: Springwoof, was a star – she didn’t know this ‘verse and was willing to dive in, with her stringent attention to detail and her advice -- thank you, Babe.

**The Black Herald**  
By sealie

 **Part one**

Remayne! NO. 

Steve dropped. The void in his mind was all-encompassing. Nothing. But it wasn’t nothingness. Nothingness was preferable. This was emptiness. 

His Companion was dead. 

How would he prevail? 

Why hadn’t he died with Remayne?

Steve opened his eyes. The ceiling above his head was daubed white. The scents on the air were medicinal and astringent. 

A Healer’s Collegium. The whiteness was actinide. His eyes watered. So white. So well-maintained; likely Haven, the capital of Valdemar. 

_I should have died._

~*~

“You can’t die, Steven. I forbid it.”

“Oh, you forbid it?” Steve watched the motes of sunlight dancing in King Daniel’s hair. As dreams went, this seemed rather concrete. 

He and King Daniel were year mates, born on the same day, Chosen by Companions -- Horse-like Avatars -- on the same day thirteen years later, graduated as Heralds on the same day five years later. And then Steve and Remayne had gone on Circuit with a grizzled, grumpy veteran Herald and her equally curmudgeonly Companion. The heir to the throne of Valdemar and his Companion, Lumina, had stayed in the Capital. They had rarely seen each other since. 

Steve had missed Danny more than he could express.

“Yes.” King Daniel puffed out his chest as he stalked back and forward beside Steve’s bed. “I forbid it. And stop thinking _King Daniel_. I’m Danny, your friend. Even if we haven’t been able to see each other over the past few years because of duty. We are friends.” 

“Is that a decree?” Steve asked uninterestedly. 

Danny plopped down on the mattress, hip pushing into Steve’s side. 

“Do you want me to make it a decree? I can.” Danny dredged up a smile from somewhere. “I need you, Herald.” 

“Even without…”

“Even without Remayne.”

Heralds surviving their Companions was rare. They normally died together. Those that did survive often found another Companion heartbeats after the loss. None had stood up for Steve. None had found him worthy. He couldn’t look at himself in a mirror. He had believed himself an honourable man; yet, no Companion came forth. He had left Remayne behind, guarding their retreat as he helped the villagers escape from a blitzkrieg. 

Why hadn’t he died?

Steve sighed and stared out the window. The curtains wafted lightly in the breeze. Spring was proving to be a gentle handmaiden leading the land of Valdemar into summer. How long had he been here? 

“Steven?” 

The autumn campaign had been hard fought, and insane. Who in their right mind brokered war as winter nipped at their heels? The battle had been for ideology. A tin pot dictator who objected to Valdemar’s motto _There is no one true way_ as an affront to their belief in the god Mam’mon. That the village of farmers and artisans had been set over a richly veined rock strata of yellow ore had played no small part in the Believers of Mam’mon’s target. 

A beautiful landscape of patchwork fields, forests and water courses was now a devastated wasteland all in the name of Mam’mon. The True Believers had not gained a foothold on Valdemar. Remayne had called down an obliterating Final Strike, once his Herald and their charges were out of the area of affect. 

“Sshh.” Cool fingers brushed the tears from his cheeks. “Turn away from those memories.” 

Steve blinked the moisture from his eyes. Huh, the King was still here. He wasn’t a dream. A Healer robed in green blocked out the sunlight. Where had she come from? Had she Fetched herself into the room in the blink of an eye?

“Steve,” Danny said sharply. “You’ve been here a long time. Your Channels were practically charred when your Companion sacrificed himself and obliterated the so-called Lord Punt, the Mad Lord Punt. You almost died, but you’re alive. You have to start living.” 

The Mind Healer had had similar conversations with him, albeit conversations weren’t the correct descriptions for their meetings. One sided -- Statements of Intent -- since perhaps the burnt Channels, which directed his Mage gifts and mindspeech, prevented the young woman from plying her skills directly on his mind. She had been restricted to words, and they were not her forte, unlike Danny. 

“Steve!” Danny gripped his chin. “Concentrate!” 

He had a headache. He always seemed to have a headache. Burnt Channels, perhaps?

“Steven, I, King Daniel Williams of Valdemar, need you. I need your experience and insight. I need you well. I need you out of this bed.” 

“Your Majesty,” a voice, somewhat familiar, said, “you cannot just berate someone better.” 

“I--” 

“I know you mean well, but this is not the way,” the Healer spoke sharply. 

“I am sorry, Steve,” The _King_ apologised. “Come on, sit up, please.” 

Steve moved on the mattress. He was weak. Staring at his hands, he marvelled at the narrowness of his wrists. 

“That’s it.” Danny scooped an arm around his shoulders and helped him sit up. The green robed Mind Healer set a cushion at his back. 

“Nice to see you awake, Steve,” she said.

Healer Garivald, Steve recalled.

“If you would like to help Herald Steven with his breakfast?” She pointed to the tray beside his bed. 

Surely she didn’t expect the King to feed him. Danny reached for the bowl. 

“No.” Steve held his narrow, angular hands out for the porridge. He would feed himself.

~*~

The Healers’ medicines seemed to be food based. Porridge spiked with flax and nuts. Fish for lunch and dinner with leafy green vegetables.

Come sit outside. Walk around the gardens. Come sit outside. Walk around the gardens, went the refrain. Sunlight. Sit in the light. The sun is good for you. To shut up Garivald, he would make the steps to the double doors and flop on the garden seat or make a turn around the Mind Healers’ enclosed garden and then sleep for hours. 

The sun helped, but it couldn’t make him care. He walled up his grieving behind a wall of his own making. The wall was fragile, so very fragile. He stared into the void, and the void stared back.

“Tincture of Verity.” Garivald set the tall, sweating glass beside him. “It’s a beautiful day. Don’t you think?” 

He drank because otherwise she would berate him, politely and graciously, until he did. The tincture made the cool water taste of lime and grass. 

He shielded his eyes from the morning sun shining directly across the gardens and into his eyes, until a shadow fell across him. Danny like to stand between him and the sun. The sun playing in his fine hair was an effect that he knew Danny favoured. 

“Why don’t you sit in the shade?” 

“The sun is supposedly good for me,” Steve said.

“How?” 

“I don’t know.” Steve shrugged listlessly. “You could ask them”

“I will later. But come on.” Danny, King Daniel, extended his hand. “Let’s go for a walk outside of here. There’s something that I want to show you.”

Steve eyed the hand. Danny wiggled it enticingly from side to side. 

Heaving out a sigh, Steve grabbed it, and allowed Danny to heave him out of his pile of cushions.

~*~

The air was crisp and dry, a fraction cooler and he would have been uncomfortable. But as he shuffled along, blanket around his shoulders, watching where his feet were going, the air felt tolerable or maybe it was cold?

::Danno:: 

Young voices, soft and whispery. 

Steve lifted his chin. The verdant green of the Companions’ Field was spread out before them. Mist burned off the lightly rolling plain. Through the mist, three, pure white, Companion foals gambolled on long legs towards them. 

“No,” Steve whispered. Companions, they would know, they would know that he had left Remayne. He would scare them. 

“They always come to say hello when I have my morning constitutional.” Danny tossed an apple from hand to hand, prepared for the babies. “Don’t leave, please.” 

Bleating for ::Danno::

“Danno?” 

“They’re young.” Danny deftly flipped a short knife out of his sleeve, and began to pare the apple. 

Surrounded. He would have to push them aside, and hurt them, to run – stumble – away. 

“This is Leverage, this is Ritten, and this is Arivis.” Danny pointed at each identical foal as if they were different as night and day. 

Steve kept his hands down by his sides; he didn’t close them into fists. 

Babies. 

A soft, velvet nose nuzzled his fingers. 

“Here.” Danny passed him a piece of apple. 

Arivis bleated a neigh and pranced from side to side in anticipation. Arthritically, Steve set the apple on his palm and stretched his fingers and thumb away. Soft, softly, Arivis lipped the treat. 

::Thank you:: she giggled in his mind. 

Oh, he could still hear Companions. He could still hear Companions. Arivis planted her forehead against his chest and demanded ear scratches. Steve had no choice but to scratch. Her pleasure was a balm. 

He looked up to see Danny smiling knowingly at him. 

“I guess they think you’re okay.” He stroked the foals who were begging for treats. “Leverage, don’t nibble at my clothes. The seamstress will yell at me again.” 

Wreathed in light mist, their hides glowing whitely, Steve could see two adult Companions watching them. Leverage’s mother, and the mother of the twins.

::Herald:: the mother of the twins acknowledged. 

Herald -- Steve stood mouth open. Herald, he was still a Herald. The Companions thought that he was a Herald.

::Come, Arivis:: Her mother said. 

::Gotta go:: Arivis skipped off, legs with bony knees going hither and yon. Her brother chased after her, was promptly distracted by a butterfly and frolicked after it. 

::Bye Danno:: 

He heard Leverage clearly. 

“They’re very cute.” Danny rocked back on his heels.

“Yes.” Steve was suddenly exhausted. 

Danny curled an arm around his waist. “Let’s get you back to the Healers. I come see the babies most mornings. Unless, of course, duties get in the way.”

Steve gripped Danny’s sleeve. 

“That wasn’t--” he couldn’t put his thoughts in order. 

“The Companions understand,” Danny said. “They don’t blame you for Remayne’s death. They sorrow. They grieve with you.” 

Steve sagged, and Danny turned him into his body. A strong hand pushed his head into the crook of Danny’s neck. Intricate embroidery scratched his damp nose. He sniffed. The seamstress would yell at Danny if he got the needlework wet.

“Shush.” The strong hand stroked the nape of his neck. “Shush.” 

Steve sobbed.

~*~

Steve contemplated the little knife he had liberated from Danny's sleeve. Although small, it was very sharp. The apple flesh had easily parted under the slightest of pressures. Steve pushed his fingertip into the tip just until the flesh turned white. The knife bore the crest of the Royal House of Valdemar on its pommel.

It was Danny's knife.

Perhaps it had also been his grandmother’s, Queen Astrid's?

Regardless, it was Danny's sharp knife.

He flipped the blade through his fingers and let it dance over his knuckles. A little nick welled with blood.

It was a pretty blade, but also lethally sharp and functional.

Danny said that the Companions held no guilt over his head. The foals nuzzled kisses into the palms of his hand. A hand that now held a knife.

Steve tossed the blade into the air. It turned over once, twice, reached the apex of its climb, and then started to drop. Steve watched it like an impending avalanche falling towards him. He caught it at the last possible moment, flipped it once, and slipped it into his sleeve.

~*~

The unseasonably warm spring continued and once again Steve found himself summarily evicted from his room in the Healers' Collegium and into the central garden complex.

This time he was told to go for a walk and not just sit. 

Ostensibly, ‘they’ wanted to clean his room; in reality, they were just being annoying. Ants in his pants -- Garivald was probably going to tweak his medication again -- he dragged around the walled gardens. It did not escape his notice that the Mind Healers gardens were walled. To protect him, or protect others? A young man shadowed by a carer was absorbed by a tree in the far corner of the maze of raised beds and carefully tendered grottos. 

“Greetings?”

Steve stared at the young woman weeding… doing _something_ gardeny in a loamy patch of soil. He wasn't a complete gardening-ignoramus; he recognised that she was tending a herb patch.

“Hello,” she tried. 

Steve stared a little more. Valdemar was a country of many peoples. However, there were not a lot of Tayledras or Shin'a'in; the people preferring their forests and open plains, respectively, to city living. Steve guessed she was Tayledras from the flowing leaf and flower patterned robes, clearly chosen to match the Healers’ gardens, and her ridiculously long, impractical hair.

“You're being rude.” She effortlessly rolled back from her squat to sit cross-legged on one of the paving stones around the plot.

“Sorry,” Steve said, surly. “I can leave.”

“Could you pass me that pot, please?”

There was an entire tray of woody and leafy dark plants by his foot. Steve considered her opening gambit, and, curious, decided to go along with it. 

“Chamomile, first,” she said.

Steve squatted. Each pot had a carefully pencilled label. One row was chamomile. Steve handed across the first pot in the line.

“Thank you. You can call me Kono, by the way.” She smiled, dimples showing. “I don't understand the 'bytheway' but my Teacher says it is polite. I usually get funny looks when I say it. Did I say it right?”

Steve nodded.

She felt young. He could see her through his damaged othersense, bright and vibrant. Tayledras aged effortlessly, especially those who swam in magic, and surfed the ley lines, nodes, and heartstones. She could be in her eighties or twenties. Her eyes, though, were a pale brown, only just starting to bleach as she learnt the ways of magic – young. 

She wasn’t ill. The vibrancy he saw dispelled that. And wasn’t that a curious thing, to be able to see and know that a person was ill. He craned his head over his shoulder, to look at the man by the tree. He turned back quickly to stare at the young Tayledras. 

“I miss home,” she said, conversationally into the empty spaces where Steve didn’t speak. “Our Vale is a green living place. Here there are walls. The Palace gardeners are very protective of their flower beds and bushes, and everyone has their role. I offered my help to the Healers, and they were happy to allow me to spend time in their gardens waking the plants to spring.” 

She carefully stroked the leaf of the chamomile, now planted in the soil, and it perked up under her care. 

“The palace gardeners should have let you help,” Steve said, thinking that dismissing her offer was their loss. Steve had worked with and spent a small amount of time with Tayledras scouts in the Pelagirs. He had only visited one of the Tayledras Vales a handful of times and met the reclusive Tayledras Mages. Judging by the way the woman brightly resonated with the greenery around her, she was a Tayledras Healing Adept or a Tayledras Healing Adept-in-training.

“I can do better work here,” she said, and smiled sunnily. 

“Kono isn’t a Tayledras name,” Steve said. Oh. Clearly, Garivald’s medicines had robbed him of diplomacy. Albeit there was not a lot of diplomacy to be eroded. 

“You know my people? My use name is Knowing Iron. By the way, that does not sit well with the Court of Valdemar. Lady Knowing Iron seemed to offend them. I don’t understand. Perhaps you could explain? My name could be translated as Kono, so I chose to use that. Next plant, please.” 

Steve settled down on the paving stone opposite her and handed across a second chamomile. 

“People who don’t travel or don’t meet other cultures don’t…” Steve struggled to put his words in order. “They think that there are only a few _ways_.”

“But is not the code of K’Valdemar _There is no one true way_?” 

“Yes, but people don’t always remember that, and being reminded can make them--.” Steve wanted to say stupid, ignorant, and offensive but he couldn’t get the words out. “I can call you Knowing Iron.”

“Kono is easier, and I do not mind. I am apprenticed to Treasured Vast Water, Diplomat to K’Valdemar from K’Treva, and I am here to learn your _ways_.” 

“I’ve travelled fairly extensively,” Steve said slowly. He took in a deep breath. “Mostly in the north and north-west into the Pelagirs, but I have travelled to Jkatha and the Dhorisha Plains. I can answer questions. And I don’t get offended. Not by honest questions.” 

Steve had thought that Kono had smiled brightly before.

~*~

This time he and Danny made a turn around the sprawling palace gardens and their boring ornamental plants and bushes. And this time he kept pace, albeit a slow pace, with Danny. He also had a coat. Danny’s coat, he thought, because it was a little short on him.

“You mentioned,” Steve said into the void, “you needed me?”

It was the first time, he thought, that he had asked a question in recent memory.

“Well, yes!” Danny kicked a stone into an ornamental bush. “Don't get me wrong. I adore Nagar but he was my -- is? -- my Grandmother's personal Herald. I mean, by definition, he is 'now' the King's Own Herald and is my trusted adviser. But he was the Queen's Own Herald first.”

“Breathe, Daniel.” Steve cocked an eyebrow at him.

Danny stuck his tongue out.

“You know what I mean, Steve.” Danny came to a dead stop on the cobbled path, and turned on his heel to face him. “Nagar has so much experience – a veritable wealth of experience -- but that's kind of the problem. I love him; he's essentially my Grandfather, and genuinely remembers changing my nappies. I need a friend.”

“He's also seventy,” Steve said, thinking he wouldn't be very spry getting between Danny and an assassin.

“Yeah, poor guy, needs naps. I think he deserves naps,” Danny said, completely missing the threat. “But the King's Own can't retire -- he doesn’t want to, I don’t want him to, and he can’t because he's a font of valuable information. Still, he’s my adoptive grandfather and I need a friend. Not that a grandfather can’t be a friend, but --” 

“Breathe, Danny,” Steve repeated.

“So, I need you,” Danny said. Unconsciously, he clasped his hands together, shaking his entwined fingers back and forth. 

“Yes,” Steve said simply. “I will stand by your side.”

~*~

Danny went back to his duties, after returning Steve to his room in the Healer’s Collegium. Steve simply made an about face and headed back outside. His goal was straightforward.

He could do it. 

The Seamstresses’ Hall, and the bevy of professionals that serviced the Crown, was his destination. He waited patiently at the doorway to be spotted.

“Lord?” 

Purely based on his size -- lack of size -- the doorkeeper was a new apprentice, in post to aid and direct. The child didn't recognise Steve, but he erred, logically, on the side of caution, since they were On The Hill -- despite Steve’s plain soft trousers and tunic.

“I'd like to speak to Seamstress Aualaine, please.”

“Who should I say is calling?” the apprentice asked diplomatically.

Steve framed the words in his head first. “Herald McGarrett.”

“Yes, sir.” He bobbed his shaggy brown head.” Please follow me.”

Seamstress Aulaine was the Duchess of Lakeland and she oversaw the Crown’s sublime works in needle and thread: Monarch’s wedding gowns; banners and tapestries; house and knaves’ coats of arms, tabards…. Providing uniforms for Heralds was part of her people's purview, but this part of her domain fashioned the Court Heralds’ uniforms. Steve, honestly, didn't know much of anything about her role, but he knew to talk to the Head.

The Duchess was working in her solar, a tiny scrap of embroidery stretched across a frame in her lap.

“Herald McGarrett,” she said eyeing him over a pince-nez, “how may I help you?”

“I have a request.”

“Yes,” she prompted when he didn't continue.

“I need some new uniforms.”

“Yes.” There was an air of _of course_ in her tone _but I’m too polite to state the obvious_. 

Steve knew his weight loss was dramatically apparent.

She set aside her work and stood. “Come to the measuring room.”

Steve followed even though he guessed that normally the Duchess didn't do hands-on work. He stood on the central raised platform without needing direction. Stoically, he endured her impersonal hands. She made notes in a large folio, which had his name in the title section in large copperplate.

“Yes, your measurements have changed. I can have one made up by mid-morning tomorrow. The others—”

“I need it in black,” Steve announced.

That made her blink. Steve almost cracked a smile. 

“Black,” she repeated. 

“Black,” Steve confirmed. 

She narrowed her eyes and tilted her chin up to regard him through her glasses. 

“Black it is,” she said. 

**End part one**

~*~


	2. Douleur

**Part two**

“Well, it’s different, Babe,” Danny said, giving him a long look. 

“Babe?” 

“Oh, you haven’t met Ambassador Grover from the Haighlei Kingdom. Interesting turn of speech. Babe is a form of endearment.”

“Endearment,” Steve repeated. 

“Yes. Endearment,” Danny said with definiteness. 

“Endearment,” Steve repeated, again. 

Danny cocked his head to the side. Steve had found his way to Danny, through rooms and halls of the palace to the Noon Court, where at noon, the reigning monarch listened to the day’s petitioners. Bypassing the Guards and simply walking by the Heralds on duty, he had taken his place beside Danny’s Royal Seat. 

A few eyes had cut his way, but no one had said a word. Kono grinned at him, and then remembered to be the stoic and quiet apprentice, sitting at her master’s side. 

Steve would be having words with the Captain of the Guard about allowing suspicious looking people into the King’s reach at the first possible moment. 

As the Court came to its conclusion, Danny had closed the Hall and sent everyone on their way. Watching the Lords and Ladies of the Court, followed by an array of diplomats from many lands, Steve had known that Danny hadn’t meant that he should leave. 

Kono’s master, an austere Tayledras with cheekbones that could cut glass, chivvied his apprentice along with an arm around her shoulders. And was the giant man, behind them, clearly from the Land of the Black Kings, the diplomat who introduced Danny to the word _Babe_?

“So, I have to ask: does Healer Garivald know you’ve come here?” Danny interrupted his wonderings. 

No, Steve thought staring at Danny, but you didn’t come to visit after breakfast. 

“Sorry, there was actually a diplomat from Karse, who insisted on talking to me as soon as possible. I was berated at breakfast. Then Small Council and then Petitioners’ Court. I’m sorry if you were worried.”

Fine. 

“Shall we perambulate back to the Healers?” Danny rubbed his hands together. “I haven’t been able to see the foals for a couple of days.” 

Okay. 

“Excellent. We’ll pick up some apples from the kitchens.”

~*~

“So I was thinking,” Danny opened up with as soon as they were back in the Healers’ Hall. Garivald had appeared as they had entered the grounds as if she had been Fetched.

Danny grinned -- that was his _I have a plan _grin. Steve hitched his belt up on his waist. The sensation of fitted clothes was strange. He hadn’t realised that he had become so used to the soft trousers and tunic of the infirmary. They fit poorly at best, and the lack of belt and ties had not helped.__

__“Your Majesty?” Healer Garivald finally prompted._ _

__“So, I’m rattling around the Monarch’s Chambers like a pea in a Mason jar. Basically, it’s a mansion within the Palace. There’s my Grandmother’s -- mine, now -- rooms, the Consort’s suite, the non-existent children’s nursery…. You get the picture. So, company would be a good thing.”_ _

__Garivald’s eyes narrowed._ _

__“Are you thinking of a sleepover, Mi’Lord?” She didn’t smile but it was there all the same._ _

__Danny cackled. “Sleepover, hah. Yes. Any problems?”_ _

__“It would, of course, be Steven’s decision.”_ _

__“Sure.” Danny rocked back on his heels. “How’s about it, Babe?”_ _

__Steve eyed him. It had been a long day already. He had dragged himself out of bed, eaten breakfast, had taken himself off to the bathing rooms without prompting, returned to the Seamstresses Hall to collect his new uniform, found and stood with Danny, and visited the foals. He kind of wanted his room, a closed door, and a nap—a long nap._ _

__“How about,” Garivald said, “we table this, and perhaps tomorrow night?”_ _

__“Sure.” Danny clapped his hands. “I have to go. Things to do. Nagar wants to brief me on something to do with sheep. I’m sure it’s going to be fascinating. Oh, mustn’t forget to grab some lunch on route! We went to see the Companion foals instead of eating.”_ _

__And Danny was off, moving at a fast clip, as had always been his wont. He was tiny but fast over the short distance._ _

__“I like your new clothes,” Garivald said, starting to move down the corridor. “Interesting choice of colour. Why did you choose black?”_ _

__“Heralds wear the White to match their Companions,” Steve pointed out. He did not continue the sentence._ _

__“Yes. But there are other colours. Blue. Green.” She brushed her hand down the front of her Healer Green robes._ _

__“Blue is for the Artificers. Green is for the Healers. Red for the Bards. Black is….”_ _

__“Black is for?” Garivald prompted, when he didn’t speak._ _

__“You know what black is for, Healer Garivald,” Steve said sharply. “Why do you want me to say it?”_ _

__She opened the door into his sun-lit room in the Mind Healer’s wing of the Healer’s Hall._ _

__“Why don’t you want to say it?”_ _

__Battle, always a battle – he was weary._ _

__“Black is for mourning. Happy?” He plopped down on his narrow cot with the sullenness he remembered as a teen._ _

__“I just want you to remember that you can set the black aside, when you’re ready.” She smiled. She always could find a smile for him. Steve didn’t know if he liked it. “I’ll see to your lunch. It’s warm out now. I’ll bring a tray to the gardens.”_ _

__She set thoughts to motion, disappearing. She possibly had a form of the Fetching gift that allowed her to move quickly. Everyone had so much energy; it was annoying._ _

__The glass doors to his little garden were open, invitingly – or not. He could always retrieve the tray from his pillow nest if he got hungry._ _

__~~_ _

__Steve had been in the Monarch's Chambers before -- as a gauche thirteen-year-old with his new best friend, Danny. He hadn't realised that Danny was the Heir Presumptive as the first of Queen Astrid's children and grandchildren to be Chosen by a Companion. In retrospect, he figured Danny hadn't given it much thought. He had an older brother, two sisters, and a passel of cousins. There was always a chance that another member of the family would be Chosen._ _

__They hadn't been._ _

__Steve had met Danny's Grandma a few times before he had made the connection between the portrait in his father's study and the friendly grandmother who had given him and Danny sweets when they came to visit._ _

__“I was sorry to hear about your Grandmother's passing,” Steve said as he regarded her favourite armchair by the banked fire. “I was far out on Circuit; I couldn't get back for the funeral.”_ _

__Mad Lord Punt had then raised his ugly, matted head._ _

__“I understood. I got your note.”_ _

__Danny only had a fair-to-middling thought sensing gift so Steve hadn’t been able to reach his mind from so far away. Steve hadn’t been close to a ley line to augment his abilities. Penning that letter for Danny had been the hardest thing he had written._ _

__“Do you know....” Danny’s voice trailed off._ _

__“Know what?”_ _

__“You were the only person to offer me condolences for my Grandmother's passing.”_ _

__“I find that hard to believe?” Steve said, uncertainly._ _

__Danny snorted. “I got plenty about the Queen.”_ _

__“Ah,” Steve could only say._ _

__Danny made a turn around the richly appointed chamber. “I should do something about the decor. It's time, I think? Wanna help?”_ _

__Steve didn't know anything about decorating; he had been at home, Chosen at thirteen -- spent time in his assigned rooms in the Heralds’ Collegium as a trainee and then as a Herald. Mostly, after graduation, he had been on Circuit in waystations, inns, spare pallets in Guard Houses or camping rough – places to lay his head after a day’s work._ _

__Then again, he also doubted that Danny knew how to decorate, or had time as a busy, Heir Presumptive and now as a hands-on Monarch._ _

__“You can say no,” Danny said, archly._ _

__“What do either of us know about decorating?”_ _

__“Nothing, but I can tell the Chatelaine that that bust of my Great-Grandfather has to go.”_ _

__Fair Point -- the austere man looked disapprovingly down his long nose at a painting of another ancestor on the opposite wall._ _

__“More light would be good,” Steve ventured. Queen Astrid had favoured deep ruby red with gold, and the walls and curtains reflected that choice. The drapes were heavy velvet; the Queen had tended to get blinding, sick headaches. They were also possibly older than his and Danny's combined ages._ _

__“I like blue, light blue. White.” Danny puffed out his cheeks and blew out a huff. “Could be a little cold, though?”_ _

__“Yellow?” Steve finally offered after staring at Danny for an age. He couldn’t believe that they were having this discussion._ _

__“Oooh.” Danny turned in a circle, contemplating walls, far too many cabinets, and the forest of padded armchairs. “Get rid of all the tat, move the vaguely unsettling and disapproving ancestors’ memorabilia. Yellow curtains. White walls and blue accents.”_ _

__“Grandmother’s armchair?”_ _

__It was a comfy armchair, and it was Danny’s grandmother’s favourite chair._ _

__“Oh, I’m keeping that. I need to get a matching one. I assume…?” Danny scratched at his eyebrow with his thumbnail. “I’m guessing that there’s a matching one somewhere in storage. I’ll get that one found and brought up.”_ _

__There was a light knock on the door leading to the antechamber. Only a known member of the household could get past the guards on the other side of the entrance to the Monarch’s chambers._ _

__“Dinner,” Danny said. “Come!”_ _

__The door opened, and a tall, stooped stalk-like man entered, pushing a wheeled trolley. He wore House of Valdemar livery._ _

__“Ah, Sainsbury. Thank you. Can you take it into the solar, please?” Danny asked._ _

__“Of course, Your Majesty.” The man glided past them._ _

__“Danny! Tell these buffoons to let me in!” an unknown hollered._ _

__Steve set himself between Danny and the voice, even though he knew that the guards were preventing the unseen man entering._ _

__“Danny, come on!”_ _

__The voice was loud despite two doors and an antechamber separating them._ _

__Danny patted Steve’s back._ _

__“Matty! You know better than just barging in.” Danny craned around Steve and grinned. Evidently, he knew his unexpected guest._ _

__“You’re my baby brother,” the man yelled, “I’ve been barging in on you since you were in short pants.”_ _

__“Your Majesty?” One of the guards called._ _

__“Let him in.” Danny gave Steve a comforting pat, and stepped away from his protection._ _

__“Danny. Danny. Danny. Hah.” A man strode into the King’s sitting room. Tall and dark, and filled with confident, excessive bonhomie. He bore no resemblance to Danny in the slightest._ _

__Danny met him halfway, slinging his arms around his older brother in a welcoming hug._ _

__“I didn’t know you were coming, Matty. Are mother and father with you? Bridget?”_ _

__“Nope, just me. I thought to surprise you and make some links with a couple of traders, who a little bird told me are visiting your fair capital.”_ _

__“Little bird, eh? Isn’t it about time you settled down?”_ _

__“Really, you’re going there, Your ** _Maj_** esty?” Matty rocked back on his heels, and Steve suddenly saw the family resemblance. _ _

__Danny scowled, outright scowled._ _

__“Oooh, clearly a sensitive subject,” Matty said, a little too pleased. “We’ll table that.”_ _

__Danny rolled his eyes. “Steven, this is Matthew, my brother. Matty, this is Steve. My friend since we were Chosen.”_ _

__The vaguest of vague scowls crossed Matty’s -- Lord Matthew Williams of the House of Valdemar -- face at the word ‘Chosen’._ _

__“Herald? You don’t look like a Herald.” Matthew waved his hand up and down encompassing Steve’s choice of Black._ _

__“New kind,” Steve said shortly._ _

__Matthew absorbed that comment, with an expression like he had tried to swallow a goose egg, whole._ _

__“Dinner? Sainsbury always brings me too much food; it’s as if he’s trying to fatten me up. But for what?” Danny shifted discomforted._ _

__“I’m fairly sure that eating the King would be frowned upon.” Matthew strode ahead, letting Danny trail after him. Clearly, he knew the layout of the King’s Chambers. But, of course, these had been their Grandmother’s rooms_ _

__The solar was, as expected, floor to ceiling windows, allowing natural light to fall. However, the sun had set. Steve drifted over to the windows, looking out into the darkness beyond the Mage-glow-lit room. The palace was arrayed before them. They were proverbial sitting ducks within the solar, illuminated by bright light on a dark, moonless night._ _

__Steve rested his palm on the closest pane and splayed his fingers across the cold surface. As a Mage, he knew the structure of crystals as focuses for gifts. A touch and he shifted his Mage sight to scrutinise the inner structure of the glass. It was different than a crystal -- amorphous, hard to grasp. His idea was more difficult than anticipated. Teeth gritted, he rippled his thoughts across the outside surface of the window panes, etching them with darkness, rendering them translucent._ _

__He turned from the blurred windows._ _

__Danny watched him, tip of his tongue caught between his teeth._ _

__“You’ll put them back, yeah?” he said._ _

___Perhaps._ _ _

__“You’re a Herald Mage,” Matthew said._ _

__“Yes.” Steve stared at him._ _

__“That’s the first piece of magic you’ve probably done in an age. Eat.” Danny directed, pointing at the place on his right side._ _

__Sainsbury had anticipated his King’s needs and set out three plates. Trout steamed on Steve’s plate with heapings of vegetables. A fowl wrapped in bacon had been neatly split in two and rested on the other two plates, with a similar heap of peas, carrots, and wilted greens._ _

__A familiar vial sat beside Steve’s placemat and a glass of water. Tincture of Verity. He decanted the medicine into his water, swirled the glass, and watched the viscous liquid slowly dissipate like a will-o'-the-wisp._ _

__“Yum.” Matthew sat excessively, that was the only way that Steve could describe it – he flung his leg over the back of the chair and around, and claimed it as his own._ _

__Steve sat, chair angled so he could see the door and watch._ _

__

~*~

Danny and Matty caught up. The Lord Matthew appeared to dabble in trading relating to the livestock on several of the House of Williams farmsteads. Steve’s own family was considered respectable, and they had bred destriers and coursers for generations, but Matthew spoke of numerous tenant farmers. Diversification was, apparently, the name of the game.

“I’m not convinced,” Danny said, leaning back in his chair. “I get that you think sheep are boring, but they’re solid, our family breeds are weatherproof, and the wool valued. We have sheep on the Windsills because it is not good for bovine grazing. I’m not convinced this Oryza you’re thinking of importing will grow, and it sounds like it needs a lot of water?” 

“Teething problems. We can sort that out in the mix.” 

Steve sipped on his diluted tincture, grass and lime, refreshing and sharp. 

“What does father say?” Danny said finally after they had talked the topic a round and about, upside and down. “Ah.” 

Danny took a deep quaff of his red wine. 

“You could talk to him.” Matthew smiled, affable and full of good food. 

“Nah.” Danny waggled his finger from side to side. “You can have that out with father. I’m not there. And don’t you tell him that I’m behind this latest plan, because I will find out, and then I’ll yell, a lot, by the way.” 

“Danny.” 

“Matty,” Danny re-joined, with exactly the same level of whine. 

“You’re impossible.” Matthew huffed out a sigh. 

“I’m a very reasonable man,” Danny said, sanctimoniously, “you, however, are an ass.” 

“Thanks, Little Brother.” Matthew set his glass of red wine down and pushed back from the table. “And on that note, I’ll say good night and return to my rooms.”

“Aw, don’t be like that, Matty, you just gotta think things through more.” 

“Yes, Your Majesty.” He bowed low and proper. “Things to do. Little birdies to visit.” 

He strode off without another word, but turned at the door and winked lasciviously, before ducking out. 

“He’s such a--” words failed Danny.

“Ass,” Steve said innocently. 

“Steven.” Danny rolled his eyes. 

“I’m just repeating what you said, Your Majesty.” 

Danny threw a grape at his head. Steve caught it and popped it in his mouth. 

“Ass,” Danny said. 

Steve shrugged. “So what now?”

“It’s getting cooler.” Danny stood grabbing the bottle of red wine. “Game of Horse and Hounds in the sitting room by the fire?”

Steve waved his hand, moving east to west. The panes of glass cleared with the pass off his hand. The hill was displayed before them. Squares and rectangles of amber and golden light illuminated the palace below them in shadows and dusky edges. The sky was dark. Pinpricks of constellations filled the firmament above. 

“The other suite is cleaned,” Danny was saying. “I had the bedding aired, if you’re tired?” 

“No, I like Horse and Hounds, it’s strategic.”

~*~

Steve stared up at the ceiling of the richly appointed room that he was supposed to be sleeping in. Who had come up with the idea of plaster patterns and figures embedded in ceilings? Steve boggled. Despite the wealth of furnishings, in all senses of the word, he felt a hollow feeling of abandonment. Queen Astrid's consort had passed when Danny had been a baby; the rooms had not been occupied for over two decades.

The Consort's Chambers.

Steve kicked off the heavy quilt. He padded barefoot through the suite of apartments to Danny's chambers.

Danny slept, curled up in a tight ball, winding up for the next day, in the centre of the four-poster bed.

“Danny,” Steve said. 

Danny snored on, undisturbed. 

“Danny,” he repeated insistently. He stubbed his toe against the bed, but even if he had put his back against the heavy, wooden frame, he couldn’t have moved it. “Danny. Danny!”

Grumbling, Danny uncurled, and cracked an eye. Steve waited patiently until Danny pushed up on one elbow. He peered owlishly at Steve. “What?”

“You put me in the Consort's Chambers,” Steve said, intelligently.

“Huh?” Danny sat up and scrabbled at his messy hair. Pulling a face, he opened his eyes wide, trying to wake up. 

“You put me in the Consort's Chambers,” Steve repeated his observation, when, finally, there was a shred of thought in Danny’s bright eyes. So bright that even by the light of the single, bedside glow Steve could see their blueness.

“If you want, you could sleep in the nursery,” Danny said dryly.

“It's the room for your wife.” Steve stared. The room was a room. He wasn't making any sense. 

“If you want to be pedantic, it's the room for the consort.” Danny yawned widely.

“You're tired.”

“Ten out of ten for observation. My days are long.” Danny cracked another massive yawn. “If you're creeped out by the 'Consort's Chambers' you can bunk with me. The bed's certainly big enough.”

Oh, that seemed.... reasonable, certainly more so than taking the Queen's -- future Queen's -- rooms.

“When you make your mind up I'll be here.” Danny flopped dramatically back down on his pillows. He caught the edge of quilt and pulled it up over his chest. Head pillowed, he promptly closed his eyes, halfway back to sleep. “You gonna just stand there?”

Steve lifted up the corner of the quilt --

“Don’t let the cold in,” Danny whined. 

\-- and slipped between the body warmed sheets.

Danny had a four poster bed. Red velvet was draped above their head. Why?

“Better?” Danny asked. 

Steve contemplated the drapes. He supposed it was actually a lot like a tent. Although he had never camped in such an ostentatious tent. 

“Camping.”

“Pardon?” Danny rolled onto his side. 

“Remayne and I,” Steve said. “Me and Rem. When we were on Circuit -- we were always on Circuit -- we stayed in waystations, or billeted with the guard. Inns are few and far between on the border. If there isn’t a waystation, you bunk in stable or camp. I’m used….”

“You’re used to sharing your space,” Danny interpreted. 

“Yes,” Steve hadn’t thought it through, but, yes, he and Rem had shared space. The space was now a void. 

“You’re sharing space now.” Danny’s hand reached him under the blankets and gripped his shoulder. 

“Yes. Where’s Lumina?” Steve blurted. 

Danny huffed. “I can’t, unfortunately, have my Companion sleeping at the end of my bed.”

“Why not? You are the King.”

“I think that she would find the stairs a bit of a ‘mare.” Head mashed against his pillow, Danny only had one eye open. “I didn’t do Circuit. Heir, you know, can’t be out of the Council’s overarching reach. I worked in the law courts in Haven, here On the Hill and below. Lumina’s my Companion, there’s no argument there, but we haven’t faced down bandits and criminals, madmen and zealots, out in the field. She’s the voice of reason, confidence and support, and if my mom wasn’t a little ditzy, I’d say she’s a lot like my mom. Actually, yeah, she’s pretty much my mom. Rem was your battle mate?”

“Partner,” Steve whispered. 

“Partner, yes,” Danny agreed. “Different relationship: closer, more familiar, more sharing.”

More often than not he and Rem had slept curled together under the stars or a tarpaulin on their way to sort out the next disaster on their assigned route. Curled, also, in each other’s minds, so that they never needed to talk, but he had always known that Rem had had his back under any circumstances. 

“Look, Babe.” Danny’s hand moved up and over Steve’s face, like an affectionate spider, forcing him to close his eyes. “Go to sleep, I have to be up at dawn to speak to the Small Council, and that’s not too far away.” 

Steve obeyed his King. 

**End part two**

~*~


	3. Petit Conseil

**Part three**

“I hate mornings,” Danny was saying above Steve.

Grumble, grumble, grumble. As trainees, they had shared a room. Danny and mornings were always a battle. Steve pried open gummy, sleep encrusted eyelids. It appeared that Danny had won this morning’s battle. He was dressed, wearing tailored, ornate Herald Whites -- fit, funnily enough, for a King. The Small Council suddenly appeared much more important. 

“Attractive, Babe.”

Groggily, Steve wondered what he was talking about. 

“I’ll be back for breakfast after the Court. Sainsbury will set it up in the solar. Please don’t make the windows opaque. I like the sun. You could have a bath? Huh.” 

Danny stalked off, hips and arms swinging. 

Did he need to chase after Danny to make sure that he made it to the Small Council? By the time he sat up, he heard Danny greeting two people, who he identified as the Guards Mads and Nessa, competent fighters both. Different guards from the—

“See you later, Babe, Mads and Nessa are with me.” 

Steve swung his feet out of the bed, and curled his toes against the cold floor. Bath? He had his orders.

~*~

::Steve?::

::Yes?::

Danny didn't use mind speaking that often. Steve had a phenomenal range and enough innate gift that he could even speak to non-mind speakers if he wished. Danny was better over short distances and his projection was always curiously nuanced, accentuated by this thought sensing ability.

::The Small Council is overrunning, can you make a breakfast packet and take it out to the foals?:: 

::You want me to feed the babies?”::

::No, you idiot -- I'm hungry, but I want to say hello and get some fresh air::

::Okay.::

Steve was already in the solar getting his dose of whatever in the name of the Small Gods he was supposed to be getting from the weak spring sun. He had been watching frost coating dark tiles melt away as sharp shadows cast by roofs and eaves moved in the rising sun’s wake. He hadn't touched the breakfast that Sainsbury had laid out; waiting for Danny.

“Mi’Lord?” The Chamberlain interrupted Steve's thoughts. “What can I do to help?”

Steve suspected a mind gift.

“Danny, King Daniel, wants to take breakfast outside.”

'I'll get a basket for you both. And one of those new-fangled, double-walled vessels for hot tea, and a bottle of water for you.”

Steve had to take the diluted Tincture of Verity with food. He felt a little scrutinised. 

Sainsbury ducked his chin. “My youngest takes the Tincture, the treatment has helped her a lot.” 

“I don’t know what to say about that.” The void in his mind stared back at him, almost obscuring Sainsbury’s studied, neutral expression.

“I apologise for being too familiar.” Sainsbury’s cadaverous pallor pinked. “It won’t happen again.” 

Steve held his hand up, trying to put his thoughts in order. Danny knew this man, and he let him help him in his daily tasks. Sainsbury was a good person. 

“I--” Steve began. He rubbed the flat of his hand over his chest. “You know that your son or daughter takes the Tincture for reasons. The Healers say it’s to help me see clearly. Some days that is hard, and sometimes-- And knowing that I need the _Tincture_ is difficult…”

Steve grumbled to a halt. 

“My daughter says we have building blocks inside of us creating a brilliant glass citadel reaching for the sky. We build buildings, towers, roads and arches as we progress through life,” Sainsbury said. “Sometimes life knocks parts of the castle down. A little tower or an antechamber can be easily repaired, but a cataclysmic hit can damage the foundations. When the foundations are damaged, scaffolding is needed until repairs are made. The tincture provides the scaffolding for as long as it is needed.” 

“Scaffolding?” Steve picked up the wax-topped bottle with this morning’s dose. “Scaffolding. I like that. It sounds right.” 

“I’ll tell Melody.” Sainsbury smiled.

~*~

Blanket tucked under his arm, Steve took the overflowing basket to the Companions’ Field. The sun now danced above the forest in the centre of the field, so it was closer to brunch than breakfast. Perhaps Danny needed to be less accessible to his advisors. He was still proving that as a young Monarch he was reliable and steadfast.

::Danno!:: The foals raced across the verdant field. ::D’nno::

Steve met them part way. ::He’s coming. He wants to have breakfast with you::

::He likes the bower!:: Arivis promptly reversed with a little bit of a stumble. :: Come on::

Ritten caught the hem of his tunic, dragging him along. Leverage brushed up against his hip and stayed there. 

Honestly, you had to be charmed by their enthusiasm, and their unfiltered love for their Danno. Steve let himself be towed along. Leverage nudged the basket, clearly scenting the apples. Their mothers ambled in their wake. 

The bower was, as promised in Arivis’ projection, a green arch of willow trees. A bevy of crocuses and daffodils with early tulips added a wash of white and purples and crisp yellows to the haven. Inside a single garden bench made it the perfect secluded getaway. Steve could imagine Danny escaping here from the pressures of Court. He set the basket on the seat, and began to unpack the contents. The bower was large enough for the foals to explore and their mothers to enter. 

::Hello, Lumina:: Steve thought at the twin’s mother. Here was the reason why Danny loved the foals beyond their obviously lovable nature. Steve was a little slow on the uptake at the moment but getting better. 

::Hello, Steven:: Lumina said. ::Thank you for looking after Danny whilst I have been--:: her exhaustion was profound. ::--busy with the twins::

:: I think that he’s looking after me?::

::Six of one, and half a dozen of the other:: Her thoughts were a balm ::I do like apples::

Steve promptly picked up a red apple, sliced off a piece with Danny’s knife, and offered it to Lumina. 

::I didn’t recognise you before. I think I did but….:: Steve projected. 

Lumina’s eyes were cobalt blue. 

::I held back. Salt in wound. Why hurt you? That would be cruel. But now you’re doing better::

::You’re Danny’s… Mother. You would break your legs rather than hurt me::

Lumina snorted – totally surprised. ::Mother? Oh::

Steve laughed, and surprised himself with his own voice ::Clara is lovely but a bit scattered::

::’plles:: Arivis butted in. ::’plles::

::Arivis:: her mother chided. 

::Sorry:: Arivis lipped Steve’s fingers, the hand not holding the knife. 

Laughing inwardly, Steve gave Arivis a chunk of apple and was promptly swarmed by excited foals. 

::You spoil them:: Lumina snorted. 

"Breakfast, Babies and Babes - the three B's, my favourite things," Danny said alliteratively, as he took over the bower. "Lumina."

Danny pressed his face against Lumina's cheek and breathed in deeply. Ruthlessly, Steve squashed an inferno flare of jealousy. He squirrelled the knife into his sleeve. 

::Steve?:: Arivis blinked slowly up at him, long eyelashes batting over blue, Danny-coloured eyes.

::Yes?::

::Hurts:: she cocked her head to the side ::???::

::A little:: Honesty, was perforce, a function of thought sensing and mind speaking.

A pulse of fresh, baby unfiltered emotion washed over him. It was hard to understand, it was so, for lack of a better word, new. Arivis hadn't experienced anything other than her mother's love, a bad moment to date had been a fumble on the verdant green Companions’ Field whilst playing with her brother.

::Apple:: Arivis offered thinking on something that might help.

Steve set his teeth to the apple, and munched on it under Arivis’ watchful eyes. He offered her the other half and core, which she accepted as her due. Her brother promptly elbowed in for his own apple.

"Behave," Danny chided. He leaned against Lumina, arm slung over her neck.

::Danno!:: The foals took his words as permission to barrel into him.

Love was the hardest emotion to bear when you were raw inside.

::Eat. Take your medicine:: Leverage's mother projected 

Mothering Companions, Steve contemplated ruefully.

::My name is Gnstenia:: 

Danny would have probably said bless you.

::Danny is incorrigible. And well suited to Lumina:: Her smile was tangible. Steve pictured a young woman, untypically pale with frizzy, impossible hair. Rarely, but often enough that he was getting quite interested in the occurrence, he saw Companions as people. All types and sizes of people, always wearing Herald’s garb, but sometimes old, historically old cuts of Herald’s uniforms. 

::Brunch, Herald::

Obeying, Steve began to unpack their brunch.

~*~

“Sheep! What is it about _mothering_ Sheep!” Danny burst into the sitting room, surprising Steve who was sitting by the fire reading an awfully strange novel from Danny’s ancestors’ library. “Sheep. I hate sheep. They smell and they are very, very stupid. They’re the only animal that deserves to be eaten!”

“I--?”

“Sheep here. Sheep there. Sheep everywhere. My brother’s wittering on about sheep. The Small Council is wittering on about sheep. A councillor cornered me about sheep. Did you know that sheep and goats came from the same animal?” 

“Uhm.” 

“I don’t think that that is completely true. I think that there’s an element of truth in that statement, but it’s not capturing the detail.”

“Is it relevant?” Steve managed to get out. 

“No. Not really. Albeit it is more interesting than the import statistics of the vast amount of Rethwellen-bred sheep about to come into Valdemar.”

“Why does Rethwellen have a glut of sheep to sell?”

“And that’s an interesting question!” Danny jabbed a finger at Steve. “Finally!” 

“Are they good quality?” Steve ventured. “In good health?” 

“Apparently, according to the paperwork.” Danny stomped over to the side table and grabbed the decanter on top. 

Why were they having this conversation? Apart from the fact that Danny clearly needed to talk it through. Steve wracked his brains. 

“There isn’t a Guild of Farmers, isn’t there?” Steve thought out loud. “There’s Guilds for Weavers and Bakers, Leatherworkers and Candlemakers, and then the Merchant Guild’s but is there a Sheep Farmer to talk to? It sounds like you have a bunch of councillors trying to make a decision about something you know nothing about.” 

Danny snorted. “This is why I love you, Babe. Sheep?” 

“I know nothing about sheep. Your Family have sheep. Ask Lord Matthew?” Steve knew that was quite simply a stupid suggestion as soon as it left his mouth. 

“He knows less than me. He’s just looking for profit.” Danny dashed a finger width of amber liquor into a glass. “In Haven, especially in the less prosperous parts of the city, folk have goats and pigs, and chickens or two. You don’t have sheep.” 

“What about Home Farm?” Steve offered. There was a farm on the outskirts of the city walls that provided a lot of the food for the Hill. As farms went-- and Steve on Circuit had seen every sort of farm from small, one-family homesteads to the highly organised tenant farmer communities the like of which Danny’s family owned -- the farm was a picture-perfect, regimented machine.

“Yes.” Danny knocked back the liquor, slammed the glass down, turned on his heel, and stomped out of their rooms. 

It was dark out, past dinner. Steve set his book down, and went after his King.

~*~

They were going to Home Farm in the dark? When King Daniel got something in his head, he went for it. As a kid, Danny had been pretty focussed, but he stopped Steve from insane plans and running off half cocked. King Daniel was a different creature to Danny, the friend.

“Why the single-mindedness?” Steve asked. Home Farm was a good two-three full candlemarks or more on foot. It wasn’t that much faster on Companion back or by horse, since you had to navigate the city first. Lumina wasn’t available for travel and Steve simply was not travelling by horseback. 

Danny stopped on a bent pin. 

“Sheep don’t seem too important in the scheme of things,” Steve said. “So why are you bothered?”

They hadn’t even made it out of the environs out of the Palace, let alone the Hill. 

Mads and Nessa were trailing along in their wake, but staying out of their way. Steve would chastise them later. 

Steve caught Danny by the elbow, the first time he had deliberately touched him, and hauled him through the door on their left. The room was an office, containing a small central desk and walls of shelves filled with ledgers. Tidy, with no sense of the normal occupant. 

“You’re riled. You get riled, but this is different. You have a tone, Danny.” Steve held up a finger. “You have the Earth Sense. Just slow down for a breath and tell me what you’re feeling.” 

Danny started to speak, failed, and clenched his bottom lip between his teeth. 

“What,” Steve asked slowly, “is wrong?” 

Danny’s lip turned white. 

“I understand,” Steve said. “We don’t need to go to Home Farm, now. We don’t need any other… detail at this moment. We need to stop the transport of these sheep into Valdemar. We’re going to go to the Small Council, make the order, prevent any more sheep coming through the Pass, and collect all the sheep to date and get them assessed by someone who knows about sheep.” 

“Containment,” Danny intoned. 

“And we’re going to do it now,” Steve said. Well, he said it to Danny’s back, because Danny was out the door.

~*~

“You cannot do this, Your Majesty,” a pasty-pale portly councillor, Lord Arsewipe, with slicked-back, black hair protested.

“What part of this conversation are you having trouble with?” Danny snapped. 

“You are the King, not the Dictator of Valdemar.” The man sniffed. 

Danny stepped back as if slapped. 

“Desist,” Steve erupted onto the floor of the discussion circle surrounded by the tiers of the sparsely occupied, councillors’ padded benches. “You will show some respect.” 

“Or what will the Dictator--” the man wilted under Steve’s dark stare. 

“Your argument is facile. You call the _King_ names, to distract your fellow councillors from the seriousness of this issue.” Steve scanned the crowd, because they weren’t a council. “And you are tacit in your support of this _individual_ , who only thinks of profit, by your silence.” 

“King Daniel--” Nagar stood, tall, grey and imperious, “--holds the Earth Sense – the gift that links him to this land. If your King says that there is danger here, there is danger here.” 

“But I’ve invested--”

“Lord Ashwind,” Nagar had a powerful voice for his seventy odd years, “when you undertake high risk activities, you undertake high risk activities. Accept your losses with dignity.” 

Ashwind, not Arsewipe, Steve noted, close enough. This council was a council of Queen Astrid’s peers. He and Daniel were the youngest by at least two decades, and the majority of the councillors were in their sixties. Arsewipe was one of the youngest. Called late to the meeting, well after dinner, two elderly members were actually napping. 

Danny had inherited a bunch of old, doddering curmudgeons, and a couple of vipers who benefited from the inattention of the hidebound council who rested on what they favoured. 

No wonder Danny was exhausted and worn after meetings. Every single conversation was likely a battle of perception: he was too young, inexperienced, and callow. His every word was scrutinised and likely most often dismissed. Danny also had a volatile, expressive temper. He squashed it down, and paid the price, because any excess of emotion was perceived as juvenile by the parochial council, but regardless of his abilities, they saw and remembered him as a child. 

The oldest should be put out to pasture – starting with the two who were asleep. The councillors of the empty seats should provide robust reasons as to why they were not present. 

“The Guard at the Pass shall quarantine the sheep that come through, and turn back the traders with messages that no more sheep will be allowed into Valdemar. Messenger birds will be sent at dawn to the capital of Rethwellen to our diplomat and the Merchants’ Guild of Husbandry,” King Daniel said. “Those sheep of this new breed, which have made it into our country, will be quarantined.”

“You will offend Rethwellen,” a large man, hands interlaced over his stomach, commented.

Steve had no problem with offending Rethwellen. 

“We have good relations with Rethwellen and have done for centuries. Sheep will not affect that,” Danny said flatly. 

The massive, mostly impenetrable mountain range apart from the narrow pass had a lot to do it their relationship in Steve’s opinion. 

“So does everyone know what they’re doing?” Steve interrupted. He speared the court scribe with a glare. 

“I have written a draft letter to the Rethwellen diplomat. If this is agreed, the same letter will form the basis of the letter to the Guard Commander at the Pass.” The scribe passed the draft to the King’s Own Herald for his input. 

“I will speak to the Guild Master of Husbandry,” a Lord – Popper, Steve thought -- spoke up, “regarding the sheep that have entered Valdemar. They number only one hundred and fifty. Three flocks which were bound for Holderkin.”

“Oh, by the Gods,” someone moaned. 

Actually, that was good. The Holderkin were insular and rarely ventured from their lands. Any sheep in their holdings would unlikely be traded or sold outside their fields, unlike the wide ranging shepherds in the Windsills or Cats’ Hills. However, the Holderkin were notoriously hard to deal with. 

“You will need to draft a Royal Commandment with a Seal,” Nagar said, “commanding the Holderkin to release their sheep. Recompense would be helpful.”

“No,” Danny said. “It will be explained to them that their King knows that these sheep risk their livelihoods and is working to protect them, not baby them. Recompense will be obtained from the sellers of these sheep.” 

“And if they refuse?” Nagar asked, with the tone of leading a child to the right solution. 

Now wasn’t the time for teaching, Steve thought. 

“The Holderkin are private people,” Danny said cannily. “They can then be their own quarantine. The Guard will instead prevent them leaving their holds, until the Crown determines that it is safe for them to do so.”

“That might be a workable solution saving time and money,” Lord Popper said pragmatically, “use the guard to contain the sheep with the Holderkin.”

“I will not force the Holderkin into quarantine,” Danny said, “without giving them a chance to work with us. Who is the Herald in that area?” 

“Dolby.”

Steve wasn’t familiar with the name, so, Dolby was either a relatively new Herald or much older. Given the issues with working the Holderkin the Herald was likely older, and male. 

::Rem, does…:: Shit, Steve clenched his teeth tight. For one mad moment, he had forgotten. Forgotten. 

::Steve?:: Danny sent.

“Dolby -- do you know if he mind speaks or thought senses?” Steve asked. 

“Empath,” Danny said -- logical for a Herald dealing with prickly people. 

“Nearest thought sensing Herald?” Steve stopped, and concentrated on accessing the Web, the mystically created network that linked all the Heralds via the crystalline Heartstone far beneath his feet. Anywhere else in Haven or outside the capital he wouldn’t be able to accentuate his range, but here, he could use the Heartstone. Othersight took him into the overworld. Valdemar was arrayed before him, Heralds and Companions glowed bright white, dotted throughout the country. He swooped through the landscape valley and vale, forest and farmlands arrayed before him. Akin to flying—he had to work not to whoop in glee. 

Herald Roman rode the outer reaches. 

He knocked on the metaphorical door of her mind. 

::Herald:: 

::Yes?:: Curiosity and shock tinged her tone. 

::Herald… My name is Steve. Hold fast:: Steve mentally blinked out of the overworld. “I have made contact with Herald Roman, who is about a day’s ride from Herald Dolby. What is your message, King Daniel?” 

Danny pursed his lips. Steve knew if they hadn’t been in front of the Small Council, there would have been a roll of the eyes followed by a rant.

“Tell her to ride to Herald Dolby. Roman. Roman. Roman, ah,” Danny mused. “She’s near a House of Healing. Get her to pick up any healer that specialises in treating animals, and a senior Healer, and take them with.” 

Steve closed his eyes and relayed the message. 

::What are you thinking?:: She asked. Steve could sense her lifting her Companion’s tack onto his back. A sense of weariness filled him. His or hers, he wasn’t sure. Steve could almost smell the hay in the waystation. 

::Disease:: 

::Riggs and I will be at the House of Healing by moonrise. It will take them a few hours to mobilise. We will likely be on the road to Dolby at sunrise. My Riggs will speak to Dolby’s Companion::

She was efficiency itself and Steve much preferred that to the vacillations of the Council of Procrastinators and Pocket Liners. 

“Herald Roman and her Companion, Riggs, are en route, Your Majesty.” Steve clasped his hands behind his back. 

“Thank you, Herald.” Danny inclined his head a fraction. 

Danny turned slowly on his heel. Slowly taking in each and every one of the council one by one. He stopped opposite the King’s Own. 

“Council is adjourned,” Nagar boomed. 

One of the sleeping councillors jerked awake. “What?”

~*~

“I don’t need you to fight my battles for me, Babe.” Danny flopped into the armchair by the fire.

“I’m not.” Steve dropped into the opposite, identical chair. “I’m fighting _our_ battles.”

“Mi’Lord.” Sainsbury ghosted out of whatever cupboard Danny stored him in. “I have kept your suppers warming, if you are still hungry.”

“Just a hot roll,” Danny said. “Babe?”

Steve pulled a face. His stomach told him that food was well past being even remotely enjoyable. 

“Porridge.” Sainsbury raised an eyebrow.

“Good idea,” Danny said. 

Steve guessed he was having porridge. 

The Chamberlain glided off. Steve leaned out of the chair to watch him go. The chambers had to have their own kitchen. Steve was a little surprised at himself -- he hadn’t searched Danny’s chambers from top to toe. 

“Babe?” Danny said. 

“So that was your council.” Steve rolled back into his armchair. “Or more accurately: Your Grandmother’s Council.” 

“You noticed.” Danny sagged into the comfy depths of his chair. 

“What you gonna do?” Steve asked. 

Sainsbury glided back into the sitting room with a laden tray. He set the contents on the side table set between them. A steaming bowl of gruel for Steve and a hot bacon roll for Danny. 

“Thank you, Sainsbury,” Danny said politely. 

“Thank you,” Steve parroted, as he contemplated the bowl. It looked like Sainsbury had drizzled honey and chopped nuts on top. 

Smiling, the man glided off again. 

“I figure I can exhaust them to death. If I up the meetings to two a day, throwing in a couple of three a day, maybe I can trigger a round of resignations.”

“Or heart attacks,” Steve said glibly 

“Nice.” Danny choked down a laugh. 

“Popper seems all right.” 

“To be fair, most of them are, they’re just not active, constructive, engaged members of a working council. There’s a few evil bastards. Arsewipe--”

“I call him that too,” Steve interrupted. 

Danny sniggered. 

“He lends himself to it,” Steve observed. 

“Lord Ashwind is -- honestly? -- malicious and a step away from proven corrupt.” Danny took a savage bite out of his roll. “But he’s obvious evil. I want him out, but, on the other hand, I know what he’s up to if he’s in my face.” 

“And the one with the paunch?” Steve cupped his hands over an imaginary beer gut, a good two foot from his stomach. “Mentioned offending Rethwellen.” 

“Lord Jafjson.” 

“Is anyone not a Lord?” Steve asked. 

“You don’t have to be an aristocrat to be on the Small Council -- that’s just the way it currently rolls. The Great Council has both inherited and elected places. Small Council has oversight, folk with a wealth of experience, proven ability, picked from the Great Council.”

“So when can you remove the less effective members?” 

“Typically at the Midwinter Festival members renew their vows so-to-speak, promising to serve the people of Valdemar. If someone steps down, there’s a Small Council meeting to choose a representative or representatives from the Great Council. Not any member, but from the First Seven recommended by the Great Council.”

“And they are?”

“Theoretically, the most experienced, served with distinction. The Crown--” Danny held up his hand, “-- can’t favour anyone ‘officially’, but I can make my support overt.”

“So how many can we disillusion?” Steve rubbed his hands together, Machiavellian. 

“Steven,” Danny said chidingly. 

“You need an operational Council, not a talking shop.”

“I am not a dictator.” Danny glowered at the word. “I need a balanced council. I don’t need sycophants agreeing with me. I want intelligent, informed people to offer me robust advice. I don’t care pedigrees or not, I just care about their honesty, diligence, open-mindedness and experience, and mutual trust. Eat your porridge.” 

“Eat your porridge,” Steven echoed but he picked up the bowl.

~*~

“Thank you.” Steve regarded the drapes of his mock-tent above their head.

“For what?” Danny said sleepily. 

“Sharing your space.” 

Danny shifted onto his side with a muffled grump. He thumped his head down on his pillow. 

“We shared a room until graduation. What was that -- five years? And how many times did we head out to the Companions’ Field with sleeping mats to camp out with Lumina and Rem? Every time the weather was fine,” Danny answered his own question. “And out in the Field, you and Rem. Do you sleep better like this? Sharing space?” 

Steve pursed his lips and nodded, once. 

“It’s nice, you know -- this.” Danny kicked out his feet under the blankets. “Everyone and their maiden aunt has an opinion who I should spend my time with. The parade of potential mothers of my non-existent children is annoying in the extreme. If I look at a lady, the speculation and discussion, of whether or not she is appropriate is, frankly, offensive, to the lady, and to me.” 

“I’m safe?” Steve said uncertainly. 

Danny snorted out an inadvertent laugh. “Yeah, totally.” He continued to laugh. 

“What’s so funny?” Steve asked in the face of that hilarity. 

“I like the company, Steve.” Danny sobered a fraction. “I need the company. Every moment. Every candlemark I'm scrutinised. With you and with the foals I can be Danny. It makes it better. What about you?”

“I'm…” Steve struggled to find the words. Danny waited patiently, an indulgent curl on his lips. ”I’m better with you.”

“Aw!” Danny out and out grinned. ”That's the nicest thing you've ever said to me.”

“I've said nice things to you.”

“When?”

Steve pondered. “I'm sure I have. Haven't I?”

“When you get in touch with your inner nice guy, you be sure to give me a list.”

“I can be nice.”

“I never said you weren't. But you show rather than say.”

“Oh,” Steve managed.

Danny laughed in his face. “I'm sure you'll figure it out eventually.”

“Figure out what?”

“If I tell you it will ruin the surprise.” The fine skin around his eyes crinkled with mirth.

“Danny,” Steve whined.

“Go to sleep, Babe.” Danny did his affectionate spider thing -- running his hand over Steve's face. “Sleeeeeeep.” 

**End part three**

~*~


	4. Perdu

**Part four**

“Hey, you staying put today?” Danny asked as he pottered around their room. He pulled on his tunic and turned to face Steve. 

Steve hadn't moved from the bed, it was clinging to him. He had had weird dreams. They frittered under his grasp now, disappearing between his clenching fingers. He figured Rem had been there between the disconnected chase and trapped images he had mosaicked through from dusk until dawn. He felt pummelled, teased, abused by his own thoughts.

“I’ll get Sainsbury to bring you a tray.” Danny buttoned the last button at his throat. “I'll be back later.”

Kindly, Danny left him to marinate.

Sainsbury ghosted around, leaving food, taking food away. Steve dragged his sorry ass to the solar. He was tired. He curled up on a padded settee wrapped in a blanket. He stared at the palace arrayed before him. 

He missed Rem. 

Turning his face into the enfolding blanket, he tried to forget about everything.

~*~

Danny came by, eyed him, and left.

Garivald appeared, which surprised no one, least of all Steve. She talked and Steve didn’t listen. The talk was all trite and boring. He knew what he was supposed to do. But Garivald and her processes: grief, denial, anger…. Like there was a schedule he was supposed to adhere to. She told him to turn away from that which made him sad.

She tried to walk through his mind. But Steve was adept at shields. Before, the damage prevented her using her gifts. As his Channels healed, he regained his defences. His mind was his own. 

_Hah._

He wanted to leave, head back to the northern border, to the silence of the forest and hills. But that meant that he had to get dressed. Also, he wasn’t going to ride a horse. Walking would take forever. 

Walking might work. 

“Steve, I need you to do something for me.” Garivald was excruciatingly annoying. 

There was a clink. Garivald set an apothecary’s glass vial on the side table. Rolled pills rattled in the bottle. Steve looked at the vial, and then at the woman. 

“Featherwort with Tayledras iyen herb. I’m not leaving until you take one.” 

He could have thrown them through the window, but he couldn’t be bothered. He reached out from under the blanket, and snaked a hand around the vial. He decanted the pill onto the palm of his hand. The tightly rolled green leaves felt dry and looked unappetising. Garivald held out a glass of water in which Tincture of Verity swirled in the sunlight, a green and violet whirlwind shimmer of colour. 

Steve downed the pill with a glug of water. 

“Three today, and three tomorrow,” she said. 

_Go away,_ Steve thought. And, thankfully, she did.

~*~

Danny dropped in on the way to another meeting. He set a miniature pastry topped with a sweet, sugar coated crocus on Steve’s blanket covered lap.

“Treat,” he said, and planted a kiss on the top of Steve’s head. “See you later.” 

Steve turned in his seat and watched him strut off, arms swinging. 

_What?_

~*~

Six Featherwort rolled pills became nine and then twelve. Slowly, Steve realised that Danny and Sainsbury were being very patient with him. But he couldn't do anything about it but sleep and soak up sunlight.

~*~

On the ninth day he asked a question.

“What happened with the sheep?”

Startled, Danny looked up from where he was pouring over a massive ledger. The lamp at his elbow illuminated half of his face and set the other half in shadow. He looked tired.

“Uhm, they're in quarantine but nothing -- no disease.” He grimaced.

“The Healer hasn't found it yet?”

“Nope,” Danny said ruefully.

“Lord Arsewipe being an arse?”

“Goes without saying.”

“You still feel the--” Steve waggled his fingers.

Danny pressed his lips together.

Oh,” Steve said. He stared at the dark window pane and the sleety rain drumming against it. “Oh.”

~*~

Steve awoke the following morning and took himself off to the garderobe and then the bathroom without prompting. Stiff down to the marrow of his bones, he leaned forward and drew his palm over the steamed mirror, streaking condensation. He looked like he was forty. Teeth gritted, he straightened. The beard on his face was as bushy as he had ever seen in his twenty eight years. Was there a grey hair? No one would talk to him; he looked horrendous. Shave? He raked through Danny's drawers but couldn't find a razor. Weird.

“Danny.” He took himself back into their bedroom, bare toes curled against the cold floor. “Where's your razor? Can I borrow it?”

Danny carefully placed a fine porcelain cup on the bedside table. He had never eaten or drunk in bed in Steve's recollection. Had the Small Council been rescheduled from the pre-breakfast session? Danny was lying in?

“Generally, Sainsbury shaves me. I can't be seen with cuts and nicks on my face, can I?”

“I suppose not.” Steve couldn't read Danny's expression.

“Or I go to the barbers.”

“There's a barbers on the Hill?”

“Usually your 'man' sees to you. Last year? No -- the year before? A diplomat out of Haighlei was astounded that there wasn't the tradition of something called spas and grooming. He brought his people over and, well, established a new service. The diplomat left, one man, Sabe, stayed. I understand that the Haighlei Kingdom is somewhat regimented and he’s happier here. Sabe’s good.”

Danny's thick head of hair was closely maintained. Long on the top and curling, and short on the sides.

“Sabe?”

Danny smiled. “Sabe.”

~*~

Sabe eyed Steve and Steve eyed Sabe.

The man -- Steve cocked his head to the side -- was exceptionally tall, willowy, and bore smooth, unblemished skin. No razor had ever touched his face. He wore clothes of typically Valdemaran men's cut with a high collar and scarf. 

Sabe continued to stare. A smile fluttered behind his eyes. 

Danny had referred to Sabe as masculine. Steve would follow Danny's lead until Sabe told him otherwise.

“Welcome to Sabe’s.” He bowed deeply at the waist. “How did you find your way to my emporium?” 

“Danny sent me.”

“Danny?”

“King Daniel.”

“I understand.” Sabe rocked back on his heels. “What can I do for you, Black Herald?”

“I need a shave.” 

“Yes,” Sabe said simply. “Please sit.” He made a languorous step towards a wooden chair with a raised leg rest set before a mirror.

Charily, Steve ventured into Sabe’s domain. The room was interesting. Sinks were plumbed into the far wall, and a ceramic heater sat in the far corner, water butt above the heating system. The lines of the room were clean, but not clinical. Sabe favoured trailing vines and tall stemmed, white flowers. There was a feeling of space despite the size. It was warm. Steve welcomed the heat in his long bones. There were three chairs but none were occupied. 

“You have apprentices?” 

“I am training a boy and a girl in the fine art.” 

Warily, Steve lowered himself into the chair. The mirror showed a shaggy headed bear. Only his changeable eyes were recognisable. Sabe glided up behind him, and reached. He stopped, watching Steve via the reflection. Carefully, he lifted a long curl from the tangle of hair on Steve’s head. 

“Would the Black Herald like a haircut?”

Steve nodded. 

“How would you like it?” 

“Something easy. Something easy to maintain.” 

“Short?” There was a gleam in Sabe’s jet black eyes. 

Steve contemplated him warily. He nodded. “Short. Short.”

Sabe’s tightly curled hair was very short with clean lines. Hardly Valdemar fashion, but Steve liked the style. It wouldn’t work with his straighter hair, but a deft hand was needed to maintain Sabe’s style. Sabe, he suspected, was an artist. 

“Shall I use my skill and judgement?” Sabe waited while Steve decided. 

“Easy to maintain,” he reiterated. 

“Excellent.” 

Honestly, Steve hated every moment. The clipping and the shaving cream. The scrape of the blade over his skin. The hot towel was claustrophobic. He gripped the arm rests painfully and counted to ten over and over again. Sabe sung under his breath, a light soprano, which actually did help. The towel was whipped off and he endured getting his hair washed again, even after he had submerged in the bath early in the morning. Sabe had a whole selection of cleansers and conditioners. He had asked Steve to pick one. Steve had declined. He didn’t object to the light herbal scent the man selected. 

Steve closed his eyes against the image in the mirror -- clean shaven but with long, lank, wet, black curls. His skin was chalky white in contrast, or possibly reality. Snip, snip, snip went the clippers, and his hair was sheared away. 

He turned a curl over in his lap, knotting the strands. The shorn hair dried in his hands turning a dark brown. A soft brush tickled the back of his neck and his shoulders were suddenly up by his ears. 

“Whoops, sorry. Almost finished.” 

A final brush and he felt Sabe step back. He had been quick and professional. 

“There, Black Herald, all done.” 

Steve lifted his chin. He contemplated the reflection before him. Deployed on the border, he had never got a clean shave for months on end. His hair got cut, but he had kept it long, sometimes tying it back. Now his hair was short, shorter than it had ever been. The cowlick on his hairline made a tuft stick up straight on his forehead. He had sideburns, sharp, angular sideburns -- he stroked his fingers over his chin -- which really made his cheeks look hollow.

Maybe it wasn’t the sideburns. 

“You like?” Sabe smiled happily, proud of his handiwork. 

Steve stared at Steve, and Steve stared back from the depths of the mirror. It was different. Clean. 

“Thank you,” he said simply. 

“You are welcome, Annyshn’nb.”

“Annish--?” Steve fumbled over the glottal stop. 

“Annyshn’nb means Annyshn’nb. There is no translation. Languages are strange. They force concepts on you. Then you learn another language and you have no words. It’s a mystery. And I can’t even begin to explain what the word means. But knowing one makes you think one way. Knowing two makes you think a multitude. Annyshn’nb.” 

“Right.” Steve eeled out of the chair. “I’ll have to think about that. How much do I owe you?” 

“On the house. Next time you pay, Annyshn’nb.” 

Steve didn’t know what to say, so he chose to escape.

~*~

Steve headed off to the Collegium kitchens which fed the Heralds and Heraldic Trainees. He had a plan, and he needed food. He slid into the cook’s domain, and raided the pantry. Pocket pie, two apples, and a chunk of cheese. He snaffled one of the empty satchels hanging on the hook by the door, intended for Heraldic trainees making up packed lunches. He filled a canteen with water, and slung it over his hip opposite the satchel.

Mission accomplished. 

Ideally, he would prefer to head back to Danny’s sanctum. But needs must. 

He took a deep breath, braced himself and set off.

~*~

The cobbled road was dry in the late spring sun. Steve chose a measured pace, focussed on his goal: Home Farm. Earlier in the day, he would have tracked mud up his trews. The warmth of midday eased the ache that seemed to have seeped into his body after days of being mired.

Farmland edged either side of the road. The road was empty, since the road only went one place. Many fields were ploughed ready for seed, and birds wheeled overhead, dropping down to feed on newly revealed worms. A group of workers far by the woods were coppicing a hedgerow with wicked looking scythes glinting in the midday sun. 

Steve eyed the workers and wondered why they hadn't set out a watcher. Surely the woods were a source of boggles and changelings. Blood obscured his vision. A slash of jugular spray and his fellow Herald was dead between one moment and the next. 

_No, Dycia!_

Remayne was not frozen in that fragile moment in battle where death was the most swift and unforgiving. The Companion pivoted on his hindquarters and power-kicked the boggle into a Pelagirs tree, narrowly avoiding its wickedly sharp talons. Galvanised, Steve somersaulted out of his saddle – dangerous and stupid. The changeling was a nightmare-rending mix of brown bear and diseased-looking hertasi lizard. Driven mad by the approach to winter and perilously close to starvation, its eyes gleamed at the thought of food within its hooked grip. 

Steve slipped under its gangly long reach and gutted it in turn with his short sword. 

::Steve! That was stupid:: Rem chastised. 

They hadn’t had time for a careful, protracted fight. Dycia was severely wounded. Steve turned to help his fellow Herald. And stopped dead. She lay where she had fallen, eyes already glazed over. Her Companion disembowelled beside her. 

Herald Dycia had died in the moment’s dance along with her Companion. 

Steve blinked. 

He could almost feel her blood spray coating his face -- tacky and warm. It was if the intervening years hadn't passed. Slowly, Steve breathed in and out -- this wasn't the Pelagirs. This was central Valdemar; the fields before him cultivated and ready for planting. The wood in the distance was managed. Wild woods and impenetrable, dangerous, death-dealing forests were leagues and leagues away on the northern border.

He forced himself to appreciate warm sun on this face, the unseasonably warm, spring weather. Cold, dead winter couldn’t hold him in its grip. 

_It is spring. It is spring._

He had come to a dead stop on the side of the road.

"Walk!” he told himself, since Danny wasn’t there to chivvy him along. “Walk, you idiot.”

Fingers fumbling, he unhooked his water canteen and took a sip. Walk. The water was cool and refreshing. Carefully, deliberately, he capped the canteen and set it back on his hip. He lifted his chin and set one foot forward. Walk. 

Focus on the goal, he told himself. The sun was warm and it helped. The chill from the past memory melted. The patchwork of fields promised safety and security. He would see anything coming long before the threat came close. A hawk pin wheeled far overhead, soaring idly on an eddy.

He breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth as taught by his Mage teachers, and impressed on him by Herald Garivald as the best way to calm an insanely beating heart. 

He shored up his defences and set one foot in front of the next and walked with his head held high. It was a lovely day and he had a goal in mind. Home Farm. There would be farmers and livestock managers to talk to. 

He walked, counting his steps and letting memories erode behind him to fritter away into the spring air. 

One thousand steps. Two thousand. Three thousand steps. 

Bells and reins chimed behind him. He had marked the approach of the cart long before it came in close. He automatically stepped to the side of the road to allow the cart to pass even though the road was wide.

“Whoa. Rein in, boys,” a voice directed. 

Hooves clopped to a stop. They were two big draft horses, now standing patiently in single file, behind a large narrow cart. The cart was perfectly designed for navigating the narrow streets of downtown Haven before reaching the Hill. 

“Sir?” 

A middle-aged woman sat on the box seat, high above his head, one foot resting on the dash. She gently held the reins of the tandem horses pulling the cart in one hand. She wore a weatherproof leather coat, a crest of the House of Valdemar, Danny’s house, over her breast. 

“Sir,” she repeated, “do you need help?”

Steve shook his head. 

“This road leads to Home Farm, is that where you’re going?” She shifted fractionally out of reach, even though Steve would have to fling himself a good body length up to grab her.

“Yes.” 

“You’re the King’s Black Herald,” she said. 

“Yes.” 

She absorbed his words.

“Would you like a lift?” She settled back in her seat. 

Steve contemplated the road. He had been walking for hours. Haven was behind him, a grey sprawling city contained by encircling walls on a hill. The road continued ahead, through the maintained fields. He checked, the sight lines were still clean; managed woods furloughs away from the road. This land belonged to the Crown. By definition, he was already within the boundary of Home Farm, but there was no sight of a farm complex. 

“Sir?” she said. She pointed at a copse many rolling fields away. There was the edge of a tiled roof poking out behind the dense stand of trees. “I am going back to Home Farm. It will take a good candlemark for you to walk there at your pace.” 

A candlemark, and then he had to get all the way back. Where had his stamina gone?

“Thank you.” He caught the edge of the cart and hauled himself up onto the boxseat beside her. “Steve.” 

“Is that your name?” she asked. 

“Yes.”

“I’m Barnes. Carter for Home Farm. I transport foodstuffs to the Palace. Once a day come rain or shine.” 

The cart was indeed barely loaded apart from empty crates and boxes. She was returning home to pack up goods for tomorrow’s journey.

She tapped the reins. “Gee, boys.” 

The draft horses were well trained -- they probably didn’t even need the reins, just a word – in tandem, they picked up their hooves and moved forwards. 

“Why are you going to Home Farm?” 

“I want to talk to someone who knows about sheep.” 

Her face scrunched up. She had a nice face, tanned and freckled from a life in the sun travelling back and forth. Steve didn’t know if he fancied that kind of job. Too much time for thinking, probably.

“Sheep?” 

“Sheep,” Steve agreed.

“Best person will be Grandmother Trey. Knows everything.”

~*~

Great-Grandmother Trey was not what Steve was expecting. She was the woman that he thought his own mother would become when she reached one hundred. Narrow-boned, not a lick of extra weight, and a mind as sharp as Danny’s blade tucked in his sleeve.

“They’re sick, but they’re not sick? And the King is darn sure that they’re dangerous?” She settled back in her padded – in deference to her sharp edges – chair by the kitchen hearth.

“Earth sense,” Steve summarised. 

“Earth sense,” she echoed slowly. “Earth sense works big scale. It’s a threat to the land and the people. That’s bigger than simple sheep ‘flu. And your healers would know if they’re sickening.” 

Steve stood waiting patiently, hands clasped behind his back. The kitchen staff bustled around them, giving both a wide berth. 

“What could sheep bring that could hurt the land?” She thought out loud. “Big? Lasts a long while? Long…? And takes a while to come on. Oh.”

Her one rheumy eye gleamed. Slowly, Steve cocked an eyebrow, prompting. 

“Like a kind of blood sickness?” she pondered. “There was something I heard of when I was a little ‘un. A scary tale to frighten the littles. It was called _scabies_.” 

“Scabies?” 

“Aye, lad. Sit,” she directed. 

Steve toed over the three-legged stool set by the butter churn on the other side of the fire and sat. She rubbed her hands together preparing to tell a story. 

“So a sheep that gets scabies, shows it late, like when they’re old. They shake themselves to death, quickly.” She held up a palsied hand. “And folk said that people get this scabies, but young and old alike. It’s a nasty death. A cruel death. If’n a sheep gets the scabies, ewe or a ram, the entire line has to be cut out -- any ewes a ram serviced, any lambs a ewe mothers. Whole flocks, ‘cos the Healers never figured out what it was. It wasn’t a tiny lives thing. That was the horror story: families lost to the scabies. Villages gone. Shook to death by the demon.”

Steve shivered. 

“How do the people get the scabies? It wasn’t a demon?” 

“No. Not like the Karsite Demons.” She clacked her teeth together. “Little demon, maybe? But it stayed with the people. Eating. So not a demon.” 

“Eating?” 

“Eating,” Trey said. “Eating the sheep. Mutton. Lamb. Drinkin’ the milk. Even before the sheep get the shakes.” 

“There would be records of that kind of illness.” 

“Old records. I’m old, and it’s an old tale, told like a nightmare.” She cackled wryly. “It was bad and hard to contain. I’ve seen the pox. That goes fast through a community. Pox kills itself ‘cos it gets everyone before they can run. Scabies was slow in the sheep, got passed, but it kills people over weeks-months, nastily. And you keep eating the sheep.” 

Steve swallowed, hard. 

This was a definite possibility. If the owners had a mature, valued ram which developed the shakes, they then had every sheep the ram had ever serviced, and every lamb, potentially carrying the strange disease. Entire livelihoods would be lost if whole flocks were put down. Selling the sheep was sickening and mercenary, but ill people needed support. Although, the owners of the sheep actually might be dead, and the sheep were being sold cheap, by someone who only saw profit. The sheep seemed perfectly healthy, but bore death. Or possibly it was a form of warfare the like of which he had never seen before. 

“Scabies,” Steve intoned. 

“I reckon that them there Healers on the Hill will have sommat on the scabies or the like in their big library,” Great-Grandmother Trey said. 

There was a jingling of bells and the drumming of many hooves outside the Home Farm’s kitchens. Shadows of riders were cast on the high windows. 

“The King! The King!” a young voice piped. 

The double doors of the kitchen swung open, and Danny strode in, light at his back. His Herald Whites gleamed in the sunlight and his hair was on fire. The kitchen staff froze. 

“Everyone out,” Danny ordered, “now! You, stay.” 

Steve had had no intention of leaving, but he did stand up. He offered Trey a hand, but she shrugged her shawl further around her narrow shoulders and, plainly, settled down to watch. Everyone else, from cook to the sinkboy, disappeared like Hawkbrothers in the Pelagir’s Forest. 

“I. Am. Very. Annoyed,” Danny said, just in case Steve was feeling slow on the uptake. “I have been patient. I have been unfailingly patient. I have endured Garivald’s lectures. I know that you are poorly. But you frustrate me beyond belief! You cannot just leave! You cannot up and leave. If you can’t speak to me, you write a note.”

The sentences were short and sharp and untypically Danny. Danny went for long sentences and waving of hands. His fists were clenched by his sides. 

“I did not know where you were! You disappeared. Gone. Gone! I was worried. No one knew where you were. Sabe said -- It was just lucky that in the uproar, I had the entire palace searched from top to bottom --” Danny reached up high and then low -- the hands finally in motion, “someone checked the kitchens. The cook in the Collegium said you’d taken a satchel, a mere satchel, with a lunch-time treat. So, one, you hadn’t gone far, two, you’d planned to eat, and, three … I can’t remember three. Steven! You drive me to distraction.” 

Grandmother Trey widened her eyes, the one that could see and the one that couldn’t, encouragingly. 

_What?_

Danny screamed at the ceiling and shook his fists. 

“Your Majesty?” someone called from the courtyard outside, worriedly. 

“I’m fine! Stay there,” Danny screeched. 

‘ _Apologise_ ,’ Grandmother Trey mouthed. 

“You left the City, you went on a walk through Haven, unarmed and without thinking anything through, to visit Home Farm furlongs away. You don’t even have a coat on. What would have happened if it rained!”

Steve kind of wanted to snigger, but he figured Danny would kill him. 

“You don’t even own a coat!” Danny shouted. “And mine doesn’t fit you properly, you giant galouf.” 

“I’m sorry, Danny,” Steve whispered. 

“I was worried,” Danny said, voice dropping. He slumped, all the anger seeping out of him. “Anything could have happened.” 

“It didn’t,” Steve pointed out. He was also a Herald Mage, if anyone had tried anything he would do… something.

Trey hung her head. 

“You drive me to distraction,” Danny snarled, revving up all over again. 

Danny fired across the kitchen as if he had been Fetched. Before Steve could shy away, Danny flung his arms around him, and hauled him in tight. Steve went still. He didn’t know he needed it until Danny hugged him close. They hadn’t really touched, just a hand on the shoulder and the affectionate spider hand, apart from the one time he had cried. Danny, he suddenly realised, was skittish around him, scared of inadvertently triggering an upset. 

“Idiot. I was worried,” Danny repeated. 

“I’m sorry?” Steve said. 

“You can mind speak,” Danny mumbled against his throat. “All you had to say was Danny, I’ve had a really stupid idea.”

“It wasn’t a stupid…” Steve glanced at Trey, who now had a cone of waxed paper in her hand and was munching contentedly on sugared nuts as she watched. 

“Shut up.” Danny hugged tighter. ”You are a turnip.”

Carefully, Steve curled his arms around Danny and held him close. A knot inside loosened. Oh? Danny breathed, hotly against his neck. Was that tears? Was Danny crying? Alarmed, Steve craned back. 

“Danny?” he asked, horrified. There were tears. 

“I’m sorry,” Danny squirmed a hand free, and dashed tears from his eyes. 

“Don’t cry,” Steve blurted. 

“I was worried. I didn’t know where you were. I didn’t know what you were planning. You disappeared. It’s relief. And by the gods, look at you: you’ve had a bath, you got a shave and, your hair.” Danny drew in a deep breath, and let it out slowly. 

Steve watched him dig deep, drawing on the resources he used when dealing with the Small Council, the Great Council, and multitude of whiners day in and day out. Steve was fairly sure that he didn’t like Danny using those skills to deal with him. He was supposed to be helping Danny, which was why he had come to Home Farm. 

“Scabies,” he said. 

“Pardon?” Danny blinked. 

Trey laughed under her breath. She sounded like she was choking on one of her sugared nuts.

Danny turned slowly on one heel, and saw the old woman. “Mistress,” he said slowly. 

“You gonna introduce me to your visitor, Steven?” Trey asked, even though Steve was damn sure she knew who Danny was. 

“Danny, Grandmother Trey. No.” Steve realised that that introduction was too familiar. “Your Majesty, this is Great-Grandmother Trey, Matriarch of Home Farm. Grandmother Trey, this is His Royal Majesty, King Daniel of Valdemar.” 

“I would stand, but it’s a little hard,” Trey said. “We’come to Home Farm, Your Highness.” 

Danny was a King, he was a ‘Your Majesty’, not a prince. It was surprising how many people got that wrong. 

“That’s not necessary,” Danny said, with a little bow of his head. “Thank you for your welcome.” 

“You wanna move that pot off the stove, or give it a stir before it burns, Steven?” Trey directed. 

Steve took himself over to the stove with alacrity rather than stay in their orbit. He opted to stir rather than move the cast iron pot because this was a soup pot for the entire farm. It was more like a cauldron. 

“Scabies?” Danny was saying. 

“Aye, Mi’Lord, I was telling your Steven, when he was asking about a sickness that could stay hidden and was serious enough to make a King of Valdemar worried.” 

“Scabies,” Danny said again. “Never heard of it.” 

“Why would you?” Trey proffered the paper cone. 

“True.” Danny plucked out a nut and popped it in his mouth. 

“So bad that you have to eradicate it before it gets hold,” Trey said, in a truly frightening way. However, she then said, “Would you like to have lunch before you head back and go and talk to the Healers?”

“The soup smells good,” Steve noted, giving the cauldron’s contents a stir. 

“Honestly?” Danny, clearly, mentally shook himself. He occupied himself for a moment, staring at the ceiling. 

“Bread’s freshly baked. Butter churned. It won’t do you any harm to sit for a wee while and just breathe before you rush back to Haven,” Trey said. 

Steve was quite willing to do whatever Danny wanted. If he wanted to head straight back to Haven, or grab lunch, either was okay. They had some valuable information to share with the Healers, but the sheep were quarantined, and no one was going to touch the sheep until they got an all clear. This trip had been about following through on Danny’s previously immediate impulse to come to Home Farm (Steve suspected a type of Fore Sense linked to Danny’s Earth Sense), and get the information to derail the Small Council from constantly undermining their King.

He hadn’t in fact needed to head straight out – huh. 

“You know, soup and fresh bread sounds about perfect,” Danny said. “Is there enough? I had to bring a few guards with me.”

“Oh, for sure.” She held out her hand for Danny to help lever her out of her chair. “The soup pot is for the whole farm community, for hungry workers coming and going day and night. We make it constantly.” 

“In that case, thank you,” Danny said. 

“How many did you bring?” 

“Four,” Danny said bemused. 

“Turnip Head.” She tottered across the slate floor, Danny cupping her elbow. 

“Yes?” Steve said, fully aware she was talking to him. 

“Set the table.” She meant the big, wooden table in the centre of the kitchen. “Dole out six bowls of soup. King Daniel, bread’s wrapped in cheese cloths and butter’s in the dish on the windowsill.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” Danny was now smiling, so Steve counted that good. Danny helped the lady to the table and put her on the seat closest to the hearth. 

Steve set out seven places to include Trey. One moment Danny was yelling at the sky, hugging him, crying, and then Grandmother Trey neatly distracted him with soup. Danny was always like quicksilver. As Steve rooted in the drawers looking for cutlery, it occurred to him how only yesterday he had been in a bad place. He’d spiralled back into the dark place after forgetting for one moment that Rem --

“Turnip Head,” Danny said. Clearly, Steve had a new name. Danny bopped him between his eyes. “Stop thinking. Turn away from those thoughts. You can go there when you’ve got a little more resilience.” 

“I?”

Danny plucked a familiar vial from his pocket. Tincture of Verity. A second glass ampoule held a single rolled pill. His lunch time dose. He had not thought to bring his medicine. 

Luckily, he had a Danny looking after him.

**End part four**

~*~


	5. Chevalière

**Part five**

They sat in the cabriolet side by side. The carriage was lightweight and well-strung, pulled by a single energetic horse. Steve guessed that this was a consort-to-be’s mode of transport, assuming that they weren’t a Herald. Any other time Danny would have ridden Lumina, but no doubt he didn’t feel comfortable taking Lumina from her foals. 

The weather hood was down, but even if it was up the thin, fabric cover wouldn’t have afforded them much privacy. Mads and Nessa rode on horseback behind them along with two unfamiliar Heralds on point.

But they had another mode of communication available to them. A very honest form of communication. 

“I thought that it was a good idea,” Steve said, rather than reverting to mindspeech. 

“It was.” Danny looked straight ahead at the horizon, hands loose on the reins. “There was a better way to do it.”

True, but if Steve had sat down he was afraid that he wouldn’t have got up again. 

::Turnip:: Danny projected strongly.

Steve couldn’t argue. He had taken the bit between his teeth and went for the information that they needed. He had to ride the wave of vigour when he had it in his hands. When push came to shove, he didn’t like sitting in the solar staring at the patterns that the sun, traipsing across the sky, made of the roofs’ shadows. Contrariwise, it was all that he could manage to do day in and night out. 

“I think,” Danny continued, “that this scabies or something very like it is the source of the problem.” 

“No,” Steve said. 

“What?” Danny shifted on his seat, and the horse shied. For a heartbeat he was occupied, reassuring the high-sprung horse that he had control. “Pardon?”

“Who organised the consignment of these sheep into Valdemar? Flocks of sheep? If it was one or two -- a diseased ram, I could think on it as a mistake. Transporting this many sheep is malicious,” Steve said. 

Danny growled deep and low, so visceral, that Steve doubted that he was aware of the sound. The horse picked up speed. 

“My diplomats in Rethwellan are pursuing information on the sheep sellers,” Danny said. “Lord Arsewipe purchased some but so did other people.” 

“I don’t pretend to know much about sheep selling,” Steve said. “But surely exporting such a number flagged up some degree of concern in Rethwellan? Or is what we have here only a small proportion of a larger problem and such sheep are also scattered about Rethwellan? Have you said anything to the Rethwellen diplomats based in Haven?”

“Even now we have no proof of what is the problem, only suspicions. Since we stopped the import that will have caught Diplomat Jaffrey of Rethwellen’s attention. But he hasn’t said anything. He’s looked at me funny a few times. He always looks at me funny.” Danny flicked the reins, making the horse move faster. “And unless we can prove that these sheep are diseased, we have no evidence. And, according to Grandmother Trey, these sheep need to be older before they show the shakes.”

“Maybe your Earth Sense would detect something if you examined a sheep?” Steve offered. 

“What?” Danny tucked his chin in, horrified. “Examine sheep? What? No. It would take a tenday to get there.”

True – it was a long journey to the southern border. They did, however, have other modes of transport. 

“We could Gate?” Steve walked his fingers through mid-air, meaning that they would warp the very world with magic to travel that far south. 

“You’re borrowing trouble, sire,” Mads said. “Apologies for being forward. Healers may have thoughts when you tell them about this scabies.”

“What the man said, Steven.” Danny pointed helpfully at the bodyguard, in case Steve wasn’t aware of who had spoken. “Good point, Mads.” 

“Thank you, sire.” Blushing furiously, the guard slowed his mount to fall back into position. 

“We’re not Gating, Steven,” Danny hissed. “You’re not familiar with the southern border. Where would you even anchor a gate? And how would we get back? Is there a node or ley line to facilitate the return trip? I cannot be away from Haven at this time.” 

Even surrounded by Heralds and his favourite guards, Danny was circumspect. His anger roiled under his skin, the pink heat to his face making his eyes seem bluer. Steve could tell that Danny was chewing over something pretty serious, but he couldn’t pin it down without utilising thought sensing, which was a violation without consent. Danny used to be much easier to read, and more likely to overshare. Since ascending to the throne, he had developed some significant shields under his outer, volatile layer of _I am very frustrated by everyone and everything_.

“We have trusted Heralds on site,” Danny said with finality, and the air of _I have to delegate_.

The city walls of Haven began to dominate the landscape ahead.

~*~

A Healer, senior Healer, two archivists, and a retired-semi-retired Healer were consulted, followed by a wide-ranging discussion, which sent them all on separate ways to figure out answers.

“They should consult with the Tayledras,” Steve said, as they ambled back to their quarters. “They know Mage Craft in their bones.”

“Why? What? What does magic have to do with this?” Danny snapped. “We have Mages.” 

“Is there a Herald Mage out there?” Steve asked. “Perhaps this is a magic-enhanced phage?”

The Companions selection of a Herald who was also a Mage was a rare happenstance. Steve knew his own small cohort of Herald Mages, and they were spread far and wide, throughout Valdemar and beyond. 

“You’re still not bloody well going!” Danny snapped. He came to an abrupt halt, and poked a sharp finger into Steve's chest.

Mads and Nessa circumspectly fell back, expressions identically neutral. They were suddenly very interested in the corridor behind them.

“Don't poke me.” Steve jerked back and Danny barrelled into his space. Normally, Steve liked it.

“You don't get to go on any unplanned fieldtrip without talking to me!” Danny continued his barrage. 

“You're not the--”

“Shut up!” Danny snapped. Stab. Stab with the finger. “Unplanned. Discuss. Talk.” He stopped poking. ”You’re still under Healer Garivald’s care.”

“I don't want to be,” Steve said sullenly

“Tough. You’re no longer a field Herald.” Danny gritted his teeth and then he pronounced, “Any Gating to the Comb Pass between Valdemar and Rethwelllen is not sanctioned. Leaving the palace is not sanctioned in any way.” 

“Is that an order, Your Majesty?”

Danny drew in a shocked hiss between his teeth. 

“Do you want to put a bell on me?” Steve goaded the demon, because at his very heart that is what he did. 

Danny’s eyes narrowed. Apparently, he was very tempted.

“I'm not a child, Danno.” Steve threw off his concern – before Danny could speak – threw off his concern both mentally and physically, and then he walked away

Danny let him go.

~*~

“I don't get it, Lumina,” Steve said.

He sat crossed-legged on the grass, the arch of the bower above his head. Arivis’ head was pillowed in his lap. Her cheek was soft under his stroking fingers as he lulled her into a nap. Lumina was curled next to him, offering him a flank to rest against. 

::You’ve been very ill, child. This time yesterday you were unable to get out of bed, and we didn't know if you would ever get up. Today, you found the energy to get washed and dressed, and walk leagues. Danny wondered what else you might find the ability to do::

“I don't understand?” Steve was honestly confused. 

::You walked through Haven unarmed.::

“I'm a trained Herald Mage. Nothing could have happened to me.” Steve clicked his finger and thumb with a snap, and thunderless lightning sparked on the other side of the green bower. 

::That's very arrogant::

Startled, Arivis lifted her head, but trusted those around her implicitly, and didn’t rise further. Steve stroked her nose, sending her back into lolling. 

“But I am trained. I wasn’t in danger.” Steve ground his teeth, frustrated, but kept soothing the foal. “I kind of get the impression that people are talking above my head about something other than walking through the lower city. Actually, there are a lot of discussions which I’m not privy to.” 

Lumina curved her head around. ::Look at me, Herald::

Steve obeyed, because he was a good Herald, and he had been taught to respect and obey Companions. Lumina’s eyes were a cobalt, sapphire, no cobalt blue -- and they were incandescent. He saw himself reflected in their depths. Beyond his reflection were a string of people, shapes like cut out silhouettes stacked up behind each other. What? One silhouette stood at the fore – Lumina. But not Lumina the Companion who he had known since he was thirteen, but the essence that spoke of her being echoed in every figure arrayed before him. 

He was pinned as the avatar studied him. Behind the many forms of light, a weight considered him. He was held, suspended by thought, and assessed. Abruptly, the sensation released him and he dropped back into mind and body. 

He lay flat on the grass looking up at the blue sky above and the puffs of white clouds. 

Arivis stood over him, knobbly legs splayed widely, giggling in his mind like a bubbling brook of tumbling water. She stretched down and nuzzled his cheek with her soft nose. 

::Herald:: Lumina said. ::Steven, are you with me?” 

“What was that?” Steve felt hollow, as if his insides had been scooped out with a dull spoon. 

::Finding. Assessment. Consideration:: Lumina was still against his side, offering comfort. ::The people that love you are worried that you will take your own life in the depths of your sadness::

Steve’s thoughts kind of went a little blank under the weight of her ruthless honesty. 

::They fear that you have the ability to end it all before you gain perspective:: Lumina continued. 

Steve was having a slight problem with putting his thoughts in order. 

::To speak of this concern will make you think on killing yourself:: Lumina shifted closer. Her warmth was welcome.

“Hence the lack of razors,” Steve managed to say. 

::Yes::

Arivis settled back next to him and plopped her head on his stomach. 

“I’m a Herald Mage. I could obliterate myself with a thought if I so desired.” Steve flipped out Danny’s sharp little knife from his sleeve, and held it before his eyes. “I don’t need a knife.”

::Hence the Healer being circumspect and my Danny’s attempts at discretion:: Lumina’s inner voice was Mother personified. 

Steve sat up straight. “But you don’t think that?::

Arivis protested, and he had to rest back on the grass between the Companion and the foal. 

::Not now::

“Danny is scared,” Steve summarised, surprising himself. “ _Havens_.”

::Yes::

~*~

Steve wandered back to the palace grounds in something close to a daze. As Lumina said, merely yesterday, he had been unable to get out of bed. Today he felt much more like himself. But what would tomorrow bring? Inevitably, would he descend back into the miasma of misery which made everything impossible?

Garivald, when she spoke at him, droned on about the damage to his Mage and Gift Channels, the understandable grief in the face of Rem’s death, the loss of his brother-in-arms, the pressure of years on the front lines and skirmish after skirmish, and the need to heal. Healing came from medicines and talking, talking to train his thoughts away from a downward spiral. 

Was that what he was doing now, heading inexorably back into the spiral of despair? 

He had to think on other things. He was King Daniel’s Black Herald. He didn’t want to sit in the solar, the grasping fingers of all-encompassing misery clutching at him. 

Firstly, though, he had to find Danny. 

He ducked through a trellis -- spring buds burgeoning on the interlaced branches -- into the ornamental gardens. He planned on cutting through into the palace proper. Lord Arsewipe was ambling towards him with Lord Matthew Williams by his side.

“Holy Mother.” Matthew actually laughed. “You clean up good. You could give me a run for my money in the attractive stakes.”

Lord Matthew, Steve thought, was a bit of an ass.

“Herald McGarrett.” Lord Arsewipe was not as effusive. “The King is looking for you.”

“He found me.” Steve figured Arse meant earlier rather than now. “Enjoying the air?”

It was now late afternoon and dusk was rapidly approaching. Steve realised that he had had a long day. 

“Stretching my legs before the King calls another unnecessary meeting about sheep.”

“Sheep?” Matthew startled.

“You forget yourself, lord,” Steve said coldly. “Your lack of respect for your King, and your acquaintance's brother is noted.”

“Well, I’ll be!”Arsewipe protested.

“Don't be such a prig, Steve,” Matthew said with a familiarity that Steve didn't like in the slightest. “Danny's just figuring out his way, Pyn.”

The pair spoke on a first name basis – but Matthew was overly familiar by nature. 

“The sheep thing will be sorted out soon and you'll get your money reimbursed,” Matthew continued to comfort. 

“I hope so,” Arsewipe said darkly.

Steve was absolutely certain that Danny was investigating this buffoon. But did he know he was a personal friend of his brother? And they were both interested in sheep, albeit if Steve remembered correctly, Matthew wanted to sell the family’s sheep.

Danny wanted to keep Arsewipe close. Steve had a much easier solution to curtail his disrespect.

::Now. Now:: Nagar ambled into view his cane tapping on the stone path. ::That's not very Herald like::

:: I know for a fact that the Crown has always been capable of taking a pragmatic view of matters:: Steve said euphemistically to the elderly man.

::Not until there has been significant discussion:: Nagar re-joined. ::And never lightly::

“Walk with me, Herald.” Nagar turned away, clearly knowing that Steve would follow.

Steve studied the Lords Arsewipe and Matthew for a very long moment before dutifully following the King's Own Herald. The Monarch’s Own Herald was the most senior Herald, and Steve felt and owed him respect. Plus it didn’t escape his notice that Nagar had not acknowledged either Lord Matthew or Lord Ashwind. 

He paced at the man’s side until well out of earshot. 

“Why the cane?” Steve asked since Nagar didn't need the support as he moved along the paved paths at a decent speed.

“Sends a message.” Nagar twirled the walking stick. ”And sometimes it is useful, Black Herald.”

“Yes,” Steve conceded. His choice of clothing was a message on many levels, both to himself and those around him.

“So King Daniel was very worried.”

“I guess.” Steve pushed his hands deep in his pockets.

“Hmmm.” Nagar hummed, non-committal.

“I know,” Steve revised. 

“The King spoke to me regarding this scabies. Nasty. I hope that the Healers can find the causative agent.” 

Nagar was taking them to the King’s Chamber's by the shortest route. 

“I thought maybe it might be a mage-enhanced thing, like a changechild.”

“Daniel mentioned that to me.” Nagar nodded. “I sent Neul, one of your cohort of Herald Mages, to the border when we first quarantined the sheep, a tenday ago. She arrived yesterday, and is helping the Healers studying the sheep.” 

Appreciating his foresight, Steve figured that was the reason why he was the Monarch’s Own, that and his veritable wealth of experience. 

The Old Wiley Bastard delivered him to Danny’s door with a smile. His face was jovial as he nodded at Mads and Nessa. 

“Is the King within?” Nagar asked. 

“Yes, Mi’Lord.” Helpfully, Mads reached back and opened the door for Steve, making it impossible to take a second turn around the gardens. 

“Well, I’ll take my leave, Steven. You’ve had a long day. Best rest. Lots to do tomorrow.” Nagar ambled off down the corridor. Steve bet that the cane concealed a rapier. 

“Herald,” Nessa said. 

Steve knew he needed to apologise. He didn't like apologising

~*~

“Right, I’m sorry. You were right. And I’m wrong,” Steve blurted as soon as he entered the solar.

“Pardon? Whoa.” Danny sat up straight on his chaise longue. “Say that again. I dare you.” 

Steve pouted. 

Danny smirked. 

Steve lifted his hand and smoothed his palm over mid-air, clouding the windows, and Danny from outside view.

“Why do you do that?” Danny flopped back to laze on the chaise longue. 

“You’re making yourself a target--” Steve huffed, cogitated, made the obvious conclusion and said, “what I did was totally different.” 

“Hmmm.” Danny pointed at the other chaise longue that had been Steve’s home for the last nine days. 

Steve took over the seat, thumping down, letting his limbs sprawl out. 

“It is different,” Steve said meanly, “You know, that you’re making yourself a target when you sit up here on display. I wasn’t… I didn’t dice with danger, deliberately.”

“And that’s what scares me. You didn’t think things through.” 

Steve closed his eyes for a moment. He wasn’t going to fight with Danny. He had worried Danny so much that the relief at finding him safe had made Danny cry. How was he supposed to stand against that honest worry? Deliberately, he opened his eyes. Danny had stopped talking and was watching him warily. 

Steve slipped Danny’s knife out of his sleeve, flipped it into his fingers with a practised twitch. He leaned across the chasm between them. 

“I’m sorry, I stole this. I don’t need it anymore.” 

Danny’s mouth was open as he stared at the sharp knife with its heavy crest of Valdermar on the pommel. He closed his mouth with a clack. 

Swiftly, Danny snatched, and the knife was safe in his hands. He tucked it away, and continued to stare at Steve. Anger? Relief? A blend of the two. Realisation. He was breathing in and out as if he had been running. 

“My knife? My grandmother’s knife,” he said slowly.

“I didn’t. It never really occurred to me. I just needed it.” Steve said nonsensically. “Something of yours.” 

Abruptly, Danny stood. “Stay there.” 

In some way it was good that he was determined not to upset Danny any further today, because he had never responded well to that tone. Danny stalked out of the solar. Steve regarded the windows. He knew why Danny sat out here, and it was better when the windows weren’t occluded. An eighth of a candlemark and he was bored of looking at nothing. He left the windows dark, though. Maybe there was a way that he could make them dark but allow Danny to see out?

Finally, Danny came stomping back. He held a fine chain between his fingers. He thumped down on his chaise longue. Muttering under his breath, he worked at the ring on his left little finger. Steve knew it well, it bore the same crest as on the pommel of the knife. Danny’s grandmother had given him the ring when he had been Chosen and became Heir presumptive to the Crown of Valdemar. As he had grown, the ring had moved from his index finger down to his little finger. He wangled it free, shook his fingers, and then he threaded the chain through the hoop. 

Steve held his breath. 

Lips pursed, Danny leaned out between their sofas and extended his hand. “Here.” 

“I can’t.” 

“Here!” Danny shook his fist. 

Steve reached out and took the ring. The metal was warm with Danny’s body heat. Danny had put it on a chain because there was no way it would fit on Steve’s larger hands, let alone get past the mis-aligned joint of his little finger. 

“Something of mine,” Danny said with great gravitas. 

The fine catch was tiny in Steve’s hands. He guessed that the chain had belonged to Danny’s grandmother. The links were finely woven and double-locked, promising to be stronger than they appeared. He fumbled with the clasp, figuring the trick of getting his thumbnail in the right position to draw back the mechanism. Danny watched and didn’t offer any help as Steve fastened the necklace around his neck. 

“Thank you.” Steve tucked the ring under his black collar. 

“No more knives,” Danny said. 

“No more knives,” Steve agreed. 

“You have to talk to me, Steve. When you stop talking, it’s really scary. I don’t actually know how hard it is for you. But if you’re hurting, hurting so much you can only see the hurt and nothing else, you give that ring to me.”

Steve didn’t know what good that would do, but if Danny wanted that he would give him the ring back. 

“Promise.” Danny’s fists were clenched. 

“I promise.” Steve said, and winced inwardly, because he had promised now, and now was beholden to keep his word. 

“You’re a turnip head,”

Yes, that was going to be Danny’s favourite insult for an age. 

“You’re a turnip head,” Danny repeated, winding up to begin a deluge of words. 

“You’re gonna love this,” Steve said, hoping to deflect the diatribe. “I just bumped into your brother in the gardens cosying up with Lord Arsewipe.” 

“What?” 

“Matthew called Arsewipe by his first name. Seemed friendly.” 

“Matthew? My Matthew?” He hissed between his teeth. “I told him. I told him what an ass that man was. And Matthew’s talking to him?” 

“Maybe?” Steve thought a moment. “Maybe Matthew is trying to get close to Arsewipe to help you?” 

Mercurially, Danny brightened. “I can see Matthew doing that. I’ll need to check up on him.” 

“Your Majesty.” Sainsbury came in with a laden tray. “Your evening meal. It is good to see you about, Lord Steven.”

Honestly, Steve genuinely suspected a mind gift. The offerings on the tray were all the things that the Mind Healers recommended. Didn't Danny deserve a steak Instead of all this fish and nut palaver? And, as King, wasn’t Danny supposed to eat with his Court?

“Thank you, Sainsbury, a timely interruption,” Danny said. 

Good, thought Steve. He had had enough of the angst, even if he was sick of eating porridge.

~*~

As sleep drew him down, curled up beside Danny, he hooked his little fingertip in the ring. The chain slid over the bare nape of his neck. He liked the weight.

His ring. Danny's ring. Their ring.

He wasn't going to give it back.

 

**End part five**

~*~


	6. Mouton

**Part six**

Routine was the name of the game. Steve appreciated order. He was more than happy to embrace chaos, but being an effective and competent Herald Mage required discipline. Chaos and magic rarely resulted in a good outcome—unless you wanted destruction.

He was very good at chaos, but it was only one tool in his arsenal.

Discipline, in the face of the battle he was fighting on many fronts, was: getting out of bed; bathing; dressing; being shaved by Sabe, and helping Danny. Helping Danny assuaged his need for chaos, since he saw what needed to be done – generally, a lot of looming -- and did it.

He felt balanced, but he didn't think on it too closely, concentrating on drinking his tincture, taking his tablets, and checking the ring was safe.

~*~

There was a griping thrum against his nerves. Bizarrely, he could tell that the feeling was external. Interesting, for the first time in an age, he was inadvertently picking up on externals. Danny was profoundly vexed. Although that was hardly news. As trainees, Danny had been nicknamed Firecracker, for his temper, enthusiasm, and a fire-starting gift that luckily only presented when he was really furious. Danny was generally annoyed and aggravated by everyone except the foals and, Steve could admit, himself. Albeit that was a recent thing. As trainees, Steve had revelled in winding Danny up, and Danny had seemed to really enjoy yelling at him.

Now, Danny did work on presenting a wise face, with varying degrees of success. If the Small Council, Great Council, the Petitioners' Court, and various sub-committees thought that their new King tended towards an even temper -- they really didn't have a clue. Danny was holding himself back most of the time. He was going to give himself an ulcer.

This, however, felt a little personal.

Steve slowly turned on one heel, thought sensing to determine the direction. Danny wasn't mind-speaking, he was emoting. Petitioners’ Court was over, but Steve thought that Danny had mentioned something about a contingent visiting from Oris, a country far, far to the East.

Steve followed the angry frustration.

Nessa stood on guard at the end of the long corridor that led to the Palace Library.

“Why are you here?” Steve asked the woman, meaning not with Danny.

She stood at attention, her blue jacket buttons threatening to pop. “His Majesty is in the library.”

At the far end of the corridor, he could see the stalwart Mads outside the heavy double doors, hand on his sword hilt.

“Why aren't you together? Why have you left the King alone?”

“The King’s Own is with him and we cleared the library before they entered.”

“Nagar is seventy.”

“Still scary,” Nessa said.

Scowling, Steve strode down the corridor, footsteps echoing sharply off the stone walls. The library had its own wing to ensure silence within and to protect the valued documents.

The reason for the chosen isolation was readily apparent as Steve got closer.

Mads stood outside the door resolutely not listening to the loud voices within. His craggy, pox-marked face was in a practised mask of _I am not listening_.

“She is a vacuous harpy!” Danny shrieked.

Steve contemplated the door wondering if he should enter. Mads was absolutely no help. Danny's feigned even temper had eroded.

“Mi’Lord, you have to marry for the good of the kingdom.” Jafjson’s smooth, oily south western lilt was obvious.

“Yeah, not with her,” Danny snapped. “She's an instrument of the Oris cartel. I'd never be able to sleep. She would probably knife me on our wedding night.”

Mads wasn’t offering any insight. Every time Danny shouted, Mads’ hand flexed on the pommel of his sword. 

::Danny?:: Steve sent out a tendril of thought. ::You want I should enter?::

::!?! HA. Yes. More the merrier::

Steve took that as permission. 

Steve stalked down a rank of shelving into the central reading area. Oh, Danny had been so angry, that he had Fetched a stack of books onto the floor; one looked a little charred. A whirlwind of fury had left a considerable mess. 

“Ah, your Black Herald,” Jafjson said, sagging, his pot-belly sliding over his belt buckle. 

Steve’s entry calmed the waters, that, or Danny had come to the end of his rant.

Nagar wasn’t offering any insight and wasn’t that his role? He stood tall, hands cupped one on top of the other, resting on the knob of his cane. 

Jafjson drew in a breath. 

“The King is a thought sensor.” Steve took his place at the King’s side. “And has both the Earth Sensing gift and Empathy. You cannot simply arrange a marriage for him. At the very least, he will have to like the lady. Unless, of course, you want a profoundly unhappy King?” 

“No.” Jafjson sagged even further. “But it would be a good match… politically speaking.” 

“You marry her, Lord Chamberlain. You’re of good family, and unmarried,” Danny snapped. 

“I’m hardly a catch,” he said and patted his gut, “apart from my coffers.” 

“I don’t think that our visitors out of Oris truly understand Valdemar and its people. Their politics are somewhat at odds with our own,” Nagar offered softly. “I think perhaps a candid tour of the Heralds’ – Bards’ -- and Healers’ Collegia, followed by the City won’t go amiss. Perhaps also the various and numerous churches and other places of worship.” 

“You do that,” Danny said waspishly. 

Nagar didn’t offer any more insight, but took himself off, faster than Steve could thought a seventy old could move. 

Steve deliberately raised an eyebrow at Jafjson. 

“I can’t apologise for my advice, Your Majesty. You will have to marry at some point. If not only for your own comfort,” Jafjson said. He flicked an inscrutable glance at Steve. “Ideally, that should be a young woman of both political and strategic importance but--”

Danny slashed out a hand, stopping the man. 

Jafjson bowed. “Mi’Lord. I have said my piece.” 

“Come on, Steve.” Danny planted a hand between Steve’s shoulder blades and propelled him from the library. 

Steve let himself be pushed right out the door. Mads fell in adroitly behind them. Nessa stood at attention until they strode past, falling in next to her fellow bodyguard. 

“So does that happen often?” Steve asked, only his long-legged stride letting him easily keep up with Danny. 

“Often enough to be very irritating,” Danny growled. “Twenty-eight is considered well past marriageable age. But the political and strategic argument is weak. We have good relationships with our immediate neighbours, Rethwellen, Hardorn and Iftel. The Tayledras of the Pelagirs don’t form the same sort of organised, political infrastructure that leads to city-agriculture based economy, so there’s no Royal family _per se_. So I have latitude to enter into a relationship with someone I love.” 

Danny picked up the pace; he was almost jogging. 

“Where are we going?” Steve asked. He didn’t think that they would visit the foals when Danny was in such high dudgeon. Steve was getting a little puffed; he was woefully out of shape. 

They burst out into the central courtyard. Danny made a sharp turn west, heading towards the gardens. But that wasn’t his goal. He skirted the edge of the ornamental gardens, hardly taking a moment to acknowledge the lords and ladies of the Court, servants and pages that bowed at his passage. 

The weaponsmaster’s salle was his goal. 

Sensibly, Danny did pause for a heartbeat outside the salle before entering. It did not pay to enter a working salle unannounced and without care. 

Only the weaponsmaster, Creed, and a single student were sparing. The weaponmaster immediately registered that his arena had been breached. He continued his attack on the spry Herald. She spun to the side, out of his reach, and disengaged. 

“Master.” She saluted him with her long sword. 

He acknowledged her gesture with a salute of his own. 

Creed was a man who few would expect to be a seasoned, experienced weaponsmaster. There was changechild in his family tree, a generation or likely two, back. Preternaturally fey, Steve knew that he was easily fifty but appeared as if he was in his young twenties. He was strong, stronger than his whipcord thin frame promised. He could easily wear battle armour and stand the attack of a man twice his weight. 

Creed tossed his sweat-glistening black hair back from his forehead. 

“Your Majesty, you wish to spar?” 

“I wish to bloody well spar.” Danny pulled off his fine Herald’s tunic, casting the pristine white fabric aside. His undershirt followed. Clearly, Danny had not let kingship let him get out of shape. Although, he was much more hairy than when they were trainees. 

“Herald Sofia, you may train with Herald Steven.” 

“I will?” Steve said. He hadn’t planned on training, he was going to watch Danny. 

“Routine one and two only,” Creed directed. 

“Yes, weaponsmaster.”

A small part of Steve thought that he should be offended by the order of easy training, but he could see his reflection in the salle mirrors. Pale and thin, his face stark above the cut of his own Herald’s Black. 

Danny had a rapier from the weapons displayed on the side wall, and was slashing it back and forth angrily, while getting a feel for its movement. 

Sofia handed Steve a wooden baton, suitable for simple training -- stave work. Sensible, Steve thought, as if he had a blade in his hand, he might forget that he was in a training salle and not on the borders of Valdemar. 

“Are you ready?” Herald Sofia said patiently, acknowledging his distraction. She looked as if she was ten years his junior, just out of her trainees Greys and promoted to Whites. He guessed, though, from her wise, brown gaze, she was maybe early twenties and had made her first or second Circuit. 

She twirled her own baton, so fast that the air around it whined. 

Steve realised that this was going to be very embarrassing, he was so woefully out of shape.

~*~

The sheep were an omnipresent itch, even when they weren’t talking about them in the regular and irregular Small Council and Great Council meetings. The amount of boring minutia that Danny had to contend with was excruciating.

When the Herald Mage Neul, with Crisus, the senior healer on site, found the culprit within the sheep, Steve was very tempted to cheer. 

“Tiny non-life?” Danny scrutinised the report that the Dean of the Heralds’ Collegium, one of the strongest thought sensors amongst the Heralds, had transcribed from the thoughts of Neul and Crisus so many leagues way. The Heartstone and Web around Haven were still vibrating from the force of their efforts. “I have to admit, I do not understand this. Aren’t illnesses caused by tiny lives?”

Steve had been one of the series of strong mind speaking Heralds to lend strength to the Dean to carefully and precisely transcribe the reports. The diagrams had been particularly hard. 

“The best I can explain,” Steve said, “is that within us are structures down to the smallest, smallest level. We are living engines.” 

“Engines? Like water wheels and the mechanicals the Artificers play with?” 

“Yes,” Steve said with all the seriousness he could convey, because this was difficult. “We are a building of flesh powered by many engines. Tiny lives are like rats in the rivers and sewers. Scabies is a broken engine. A cog spins too fast and the mechanism makes a substance it shouldn’t and clogs an engine. An important engine. A lot of little engines in a growing cascade.”

Danny regarded him, brow furrowed. Finally, he said, “I can work with that.” 

Good. Steve felt that he had strained his mind coming up with that explanation. Explaining such matters to the Small Council should be interesting. 

“It’s a disease,” Danny said to himself, “and we understand that now. Fact. We have a disease identified. The sheep shall be slaughtered, and burnt, bar ten that will be monitored until they develop the disease.”

“And the source of the sheep?” 

“My diplomat at Rethwellen will now speak to the King of Rethwellen,” Danny smiled, and it wasn’t a nice smile. “Rethwellen’s diplomat here at Haven will probably shit an egg, miserable git.” 

“What are you up to?” Steve asked. 

“I may have ordered my agent to purchase some sheep as a gift for King Merandthalanth. Undiseased sheep.” Danny rocked on his toes. “It is difficult to prove -- probably, undiseased.” 

“I don’t think that undiseased is a word.” 

“It is now. Come on.” Danny strode out of the library. 

Steve guessed that they were going to call a meeting of the Small Council. The sun had set some candlemarks ago, inevitably they were going to protest. 

Steve was fairly certain there were going to be several opting to retire at the Midwinter festival later in the year.

~*~

Steve watched, trying to discern action amidst the boredom of the Small Council hashing out every conceivable angle. Arsewipe and the others who had bought the sheep were now victims. Strangely, Arse – Ashwind, Steve reminded himself – seemed to like being the centre of attention.

Sprawled on his seat, elbow on his armrest and cheek propped on his hand, Danny heaved out a sigh. 

So – the sheep were in fact diseased. Most of the sheep had been bound for the Holderkin, but others to the capital and beyond. The death that they bore was long lived. The only thing that this affair brought in the long term was fear – fear of death. Steve turned the thought on his head. Arsewipe lived for profit over all else. His business sense was skewed to the short term. 

“You are all talking in pointless circles,” Danny said loudly. “Nagar.” 

The Monarch’s Own stood. “This Small Council is at an end.” 

Circles? Steve mused. Circles. Steve thought in circles, so his Mind Healer said. Most Mages did, in Steve’s experience. Although spirals and helixes featured strongly in the more complex mage workings. 

Consider, he thought, that the disease was meant to be found. The broken building blocks and the blockages that they spewed had been found within the few oldest sold sheep; they had reached an age where the disease had just started to make its mark. To truly spread the contagion, only the youngest sheep should have been exported to Valdemar. However, thanks to Danny, the disease had been found early. 

Fear the disease. Fear the sheep. Fear your food and milk. 

“Steve?” Danny waved his hand before Steve’s nose. 

The Small Council hall was empty. 

“Fear the disease. Fear the sheep. Fear your food and milk?” Steve said. 

“Catchy. Don’t think it will make a good song, though.” 

“Many people depend on sheep for their livelihoods. We use their wool, we make cheese, and they’re eaten.”

“True.” Danny pursed his lips. 

“They are as important as goats and cattle?”

“Do you want a lecture on the economy of livestock in Valdemar?” Danny cocked an eyebrow. “The Seneschal can tell you at length.”

“Summary, Danny?”

“Yes, important.” 

“So if the stock was found to be diseased and you didn’t know which ones were ill, you would want proven stock that wasn’t ill.”

“Yes,” Danny said slowly. 

“Who offered to buy Lord Matthew’s sheep?” 

“He doesn’t actually have any shee--” Danny stopped. “Uhm? Interesting. You’re thinking that this is about money?”

“As a method of warfare it seems too slow. But to corner the market on healthy, undiseased sheep, there’s a certain logic?”

“Evil, manipulative logic.” Danny sighed. “Warfare? Disease as a weapon? That seems…. Inconceivable?”

“Have you spoken to your brother? We could ask him who he intended on selling your sheep to.” 

“You do realise that it is close to midnight.” 

“Oh? Time for bed?” 

Mads shook his head, amused, but straightened abruptly when Danny scowled at him. 

“Yes, Steve, time for bed.”

~*~

“Should I get my own rooms?” Steve asked, thinking on Mads’ amusement and Danny’s immediate quelling.

“Do you want to sleep in the nursery?” There was a smile in Danny’s words. 

Certainly it was a better option than the Consort’s Chambers. He understood the reason why there was a separate Consort’s Chambers since marriages were sometimes of political expedience. Danny simply could never tolerate such an arrangement.

“Babe?” 

“I’m getting better.” Steve didn’t like that there was a shred of indecision in his tone. Should he move out of Danny’s Chambers?

“True,” Danny said, without argument. 

Getting better, didn’t mean that he was there yet. He didn’t want to be alone. He hooked his little finger through their ring, tugging on the chain just a little bit around his neck. 

“At Spring Equinox Celebrations I’m going to announce a restructuring of the Great Council and the Small Council,” Danny announced.

“Oh?” Steve flipped onto his side. 

Danny lay on his back, hands interlaced behind his head. 

“Yes, I’m going to create a Grand Council, a Privy Council of sorts. They’ll be advisors to the King. But none of this double bagging. Each district of the kingdom will have representatives, not necessarily nobility. I’m going to create permanent seats: Seneschal, the Lord Marshal, the Monarch's Own Herald, the Seneschal's Herald, the Lord Marshal's Herald and the Dean of the Collegium.”

“Can you do that?” 

“King’s prerogative. I can actually do whatever I want. I have been reading the legislation. I don’t legally have to have any kind of council. Clearly, that would be insane. But having the Great Council and the Small Council is a waste of time. Neither are efficient. I have better things to do than sit in meetings from dawn until dusk rehashing different versions of the same discussion.” 

“They’ll protest.” 

“No, they’ll see the advantage.” Danny huffed. “Power won’t be diluted. Affairs like this sheep thing will be sorted out in half the time.”

“How are you going to choose the councillors?” 

Danny smile was wolfish in the moonlight. “Carefully.” 

Well, that was one solution to the hidebound diehards in the Small Council and the grossly inflated Great Council. 

Cull them. 

**End part six**

~*~


	7. La pointe

**Part seven**

“Steve. Steve. Let go. I need to get dressed.” 

Steve grumbled. Danny was warm and a great pillow. He let him go, reluctantly. 

“Turnip Head.” Danny rubbed his knuckles gently over Steve’s hair. “When you get up, go talk to the Seneschal's Herald. See if you can track purchases of livestock. Look for patterns of hoarding.” 

“Mmmmm.” 

“I’m going to talk to the Healers again. We’ve found the disease and what causes it, surely there should be some record of it in the archives, even if we know it by another name.” 

Steve scrubbed at the sleep in his eyes. 

Danny shook his head, fondly. “You’ll see the Seneschal’s Herald?” 

“Patterns of hoarding,” Steve confirmed. 

“Thanks, Babe.” Danny clambered out of bed. 

Steve went through his routine, carefully and deliberately. Danny had set up some sort of arrangement with Sabe. The man was an artist. Steve was slowly getting used to the enfolding warm towels and the daily shaving. He talked a lot, though.

The Seneschal’s Herald, a woman with a wealth of experience in the office, viewed him as he paced into her busy office. She had assistants and assistants’ assistants. The seneschal did effectively oversee the judicial and administrative duties of the entire kingdom. 

“Herald,” she said, eyebrow cocked. 

Steve flicked a finger at the bank of desks with her team arrayed along the far wall working steadily. This aspect of his mission required a level of confidentiality. He didn’t know her assistants, but one did wear the Herald’s Whites, and was likely her successor-in-training. 

“A word,” Steve said succinctly, “with you and your best researcher.” 

They both knew that he meant the Herald. As did the young woman, who rose smoothly to her feet. 

“I have a private office.” The Seneschal’s Herald pointed to a recessed door. 

Time to explain the sheep and the necessity to track them.

~*~

They had to bring in the Guild Master of Husbandry, or more accurately, the Haven Guild Mistress of Husbandry into the investigation. She was previously aware of the issue, and loaned her knowledge to looking at the problem from the opposite side. Indeed, reports on large movements of animals from the districts of Valdemar were gathered and summarised on a regular basis. The problem was, that there was no great oversight for each and every trade, nor would there ever be. A shepherd ranged over the Windsills with a flock of hundreds, and one might wander away and be lost, and be found by someone else. A farmer on one holding traded a couple of sheep here and there. Other sheep had pedigrees longer than Daniel’s, and their movements were scrutinised to the last degree.

The Seneschal’s Herald successor and the Guild Mistress had been a little surprised when Danny dropped by carrying a basket, politely asked for and received an update, and then took Steve off to visit the foals. 

“King’s orders,” Steve said and followed him.

~*~

“So this is where you hide? Hmmm.” Matthew peered into the bower. “Nice.”

Steve was on his feet without even thinking. Poised to --? Matthew grinned cheesily, entertained by Steve’s alarmed response. 

“Hey, Matty,” Danny said brightly. He rose from their picnic blanket, patting Steve’s shoulder, and moved over to hug his brother. 

If Steve killed Matthew, he figured Danny would be upset. How had Matthew got across the Companion’s Field? It wasn’t forbidden _by itself_ but it was inappropriate for someone who wasn’t Chosen to explore the Field. The Companions had let him pass? 

“Are those Lumina’s babies? They’re cute.” 

Arivis hid up behind Steve’s legs, poorly since she was growing like a weed. 

“Yes, this is Arivis and her brother, Ritten,” Danny said. 

Ritten lolloped over to greet the newcomer. 

“Hey.” Matthew dropped to one knee, and Ritten let him stroke his nose, as long as Danny stayed close. 

“Watch the crocuses,” Danny cautioned. 

“Oops.” One hadn’t survived Matthew’s ham-handed bonhomie. He plucked it from the grass and handed it to Danny, before Ritten could eat the flower. 

“Here, he likes apples.” Danny passed his brother a chunk, sliced from an apple with his sharp, sharp knife.

“You’re a fine Companion,” Matthew chortled, as Ritten lipped the apple from his palm. 

Lumina relaxed, settling back onto the grass. Mollified, Steve sat and Arivis promptly plopped down on his lap. 

::You’re going to be too big to do this soon:: Steve told her. 

::Never:: Arivis thought forcefully. 

Danny stretched over their picnic spread and gave the crocus to Steve. 

Steve wasn’t entirely sure what to do with it. He tucked it in his collar. Perhaps they were bad for foals? It kind of spoilt the cut of his black, but Danny had given it to him. 

::I got an apple, and you didn’t:: Ritten chortled at Arivis. He gambolled around the bower, ecstatic. 

Steve stroked her flank. ::There’s more than enough to share. He’s your brother; he teases::

“So this is where you hide?” Matthew skirted the edge of the bower trailing his fingers over the leaves and ruffling spring buds. 

“I do need some time to myself,” Danny mused as he settled onto the blanket by Steve’s side.

“Hmmm.” Matthew’s gaze took in Steve, the foals, and Lumina resting at their backs, as Danny got comfortable. 

“Where have you been? I wanted to speak to you.” Danny tossed a pocket pie from the basket at his brother. 

“Out. About. Doing things.” Matthew caught it deftly. “I did come around. But either you were hiding in here, or you were in Court. One of them, probably.” 

“I’m going to rationalise that. I’ll do something about the sub-committees as well. We don’t need two Courts. Going to make one.” 

Matthew hummed under his breath. He took a massive bite of his pie. 

“Good idea,” he said around a mouthful of crumbs. “I can’t imagine how talking the same thing over again and again is interesting. Who’s going to be in it?” 

“Haven’t decided,” Danny said honestly. “I’m going to create permanent seats, such as positions for the Seneschal and the Lord Marshal. But I need a mix: representatives from the regions, not necessarily nobility; Heralds; guild masters, and maybe an artificer. I’m not entirely sure if they have a guild structure, so I’m not entirely sure who I should pick.”

“It’s going to stick in the craw of some,” Matthew observed. He sat on the opposite side of the basket on the grass. “So what was it you wanted to talk to me about?” 

_Your friendship with Lord Pyn Ars—Ashwind_ , Steve thought. 

“When you were thinking on your plan with the sheep, Matty. Who wanted to buy them?”

“The Oryza? Could still work.” 

“Matty--” 

“Popper. Lord Popper.” Matthew rested back on his elbows. “Offered a good price said, something about them being the King’s sheep with an impeccable pedigree. But father said no, just like you said he would.”

_Popper_ , Steve mused. The Lord who first said he would speak to the Guild of Husbandry to investigate the affair.

~*~

“Fine. Fine. Fine,” Popper said, unrepentant in the face of the Small Council. “I didn’t know that this _Scrapies_ was so hazardous.”

“Scrapies?” Danny said dangerously. “You deliberately brought a disease to Valdemar that could have destroyed thousands.” 

“The Healers identified this disease in weeks.” 

“Identified!” Danny bellowed. “Not cured.” 

Popper pursed his lips. 

::Scabies? Scrapies?:: Danny projected. ::Same thing?:: 

::Don’t know. Add a Healer to your list of new council members:: Steve thought matter-of-factly. 

Danny fired a flat glare at Steve. 

“It was simply a business deal.” Popper looked to his fellow council members Jafjson, Ashwind, Hunter, Helsmworth in the first tier beside him, for support. There was none that Steve could see. A diseased and ineffective member was being cut from the pack. 

“A business deal,” Danny echoed. He set his hand on top of the copies of the records that the Seneschal’s Herald and the Guild Mistress had painstakingly put together. Bundled together they were a foot in height. “Business deal.” 

“Perhaps, your Majesty,” Lord Jafjson said, “you should gag him. He doesn’t appear to be listening.”

“One more word and I will. Nagar?” 

The Monarch’s Own clicked his fingers at two of the guards stationed against the wall of the circular Hall. They marched forwards, stopping on either side of the smaller Popper. He hunched, making himself even smaller. 

“You have admitted by your own words that you did not think that _‘Scrapies was so hazardous’_ so you knew that you were bringing a disease into Valdemar. You did this for profit. Profit born out of fear. It is only through the grace of the Crown that you did not murder entire villages.” Danny stood tall. “You are morally reprehensible.” 

Havens, Danny’s disgust was palpable. Steve drew in a slow measured breath and let it out his nose. 

“You are hereby stripped of your title, your lands, and all that you hold. Your family will come to the Court and petition the Crown to determine who is best placed to lead the House of Popper. You, Util Popper, will report to the guard, where you shall be placed in a role that best suits you and serves Valdemar.” 

“I made a mistake.” The colour started to drain from Popper’s face as the implications of Danny’s words hit him. 

“You did not make a mistake. This was calculated,” Danny said. “You were caught. Take him.” 

The blue clad guards nodded as one, obedient and respectful. Popper didn’t protest as they took him by the arms and marched the ex-Lord from the Hall. 

“Nagar, contact our emissary in the Rethwellan capital. I want to know about scrapies,” Danny gritted. 

“Immediately, Your Majesty.” 

Danny’s colour was high, the fate of being pale skinned and blue-eyed. All knew that he was beyond angry. The Small Council members were quiet. Steve gauged the cant of their expressions. These were practiced politicians, but surprised by the swift and rapid judgment on one of their own, many masks had slipped a fraction. 

Steve read worry in the main. The King before them was a leader, he listened to advice, but he made his own decisions. The comfort and familiarity of their council had been routed. Steve doubted that each and every one of them didn’t have some laundry they would prefer to keep hidden in the bottom of the laundry basket. But the realisation that King Daniel would not forgive and would punish a peer of the realm had been driven home. 

They were idiots, Steve thought. Lulled by Danny’s relative youth after Queen Astrid's passing, thinking him easily led and indecisive. Yes, Queen Astrid had been pragmatic, and a practiced politician at times. She would have more than likely been less direct. But the Queen had been a Herald, as had every other Monarch behind her. No King or Queen of Valdemar would let this level of threat go unpunished. 

Danny was also guided by Lumina, a Companion of compassion and, fundamentally, Motherhood. 

“Nagar,” Danny said. 

“This court is dismissed,” Nagar announced. 

As one the court stood, including the ancient members who typically dozed through most of the proceedings. 

“Come, Steve.” Normally, Danny waited until the court left the tiers before finally leaving the Hall. This time, he went first, with Steve guarding his back.

~*~

“Why are people so complicated?” Danny railed.

Steve had a headache. He got them sometimes, they were not _bad_ , but they made him nauseous and his lips and fingers tingled. Worse, they deepened his mood. He did not want to go there again. Tucking his finger in his collar, he pulled out their ring. Absently, he held the body-warmed metal between his lips, and sucked introspectively as he watched Danny. 

Danny swore as he paced back and forth. 

“Why can’t people be reasonable? Why do they want -- need -- to hate? That utter wanker was willing to kill people to get a strangle hold on the sheep market of all things. It makes no sense!” 

_Wanker_? Steve wondered which diplomat had taught Danny that word. 

“Well, we’re lucky that we have Heralds in Valdemar,” Steve said, “so we know that there are honest and hard workers who believe in service to the people, and can’t be corrupted.” 

“This is true. My council is going to have lots of Heralds on it!” Danny flopped into his armchair and let his head hang forward, arms almost dangling to the floor. “And other people because not everyone who isn’t a Herald is bad. I sound like a toddler!”

“Sire.” Sainsbury glided into the sitting room. “The Monarch's Own apprised me that you will be eating with the Court this evening.”

“I will?” Danny raised his head. “Oh, yes. I will. Steve?”

Evidently, Steve could choose. Stay in the privacy of their rooms or go with Danny for dinner. Steve stood.

~*~

Danny's immediate family was small. His mother, only daughter of the Queen, had chosen to live away from the pressures of Haven once she had married. She had also kept her children as close as possible. Danny's sisters had stayed on the estate, and Steve was fairly sure if Danny hadn't been Chosen he wouldn't have ventured far. Matthew was an anomaly, albeit he did resemble his father. Their uncle split his time between his estate and the Hill. Distaff-side members of Danny’s family also lived on the Hill, and he was related to many other Noble Houses, but when Danny, followed by Steve, entered to attend dinner through the heavy double doors of the main hall, the Court stood in deference, tinged with surprise.

“Good evening.” Danny took the centre seat at the high table and jerked his head at the place on his right-hand side. Steve obediently sat. After a beat the Court sat. A flurry of whispers ran up and down the Hall.

“Nice of you to join us.” Lord Jafjson smiled.

Danny raised an eyebrow.

“You are, of course, always welcome at the King's table, Lord Jafjson,” Nagar sitting on Danny's left said.

“I--” Jafjson flustered.

“It is all right. Duties have kept me away from the High table, but I am here tonight.” Danny nodded to the major-domo.

Exuding practised efficiency, staff served the food. The first course, Steve noted, was an oily fish pâté served with wholegrain bread, and a confit of fresh fruit. Judging by Lady Gray's affronted expression it was something of a surprise. This dinner, and Danny’s attendance, had been organised in advance, Steve realised, probably to show that King Daniel, despite indicting Lord Popper, was not aloof and unapproachable, intent on taking down the nobility.

“Pass the water, please.” Steve asked a wildly grinning Matthew sitting on his right side. 

The man’s amusement at everything was an offence. 

“Of course,” Matthew said, a touch of obsequious in his voice, but his eyes positively glinted with humour. 

Steve pursed his lips. Once again he was missing something; he really didn’t like being the butt of a joke, especially when he didn’t know why he was being laughed at. 

Steve poured the water into his glass, as threateningly as conceivably possible. 

Matthew just found it funny. 

Dismissing him from his thoughts, Steve drank, hoping that it would help with his headache. Mostly, food and water assuaged headaches, but he didn’t like the disconnected feeling washing over him. He couldn’t tell if it was internal or external. 

The court was arrayed throughout the dining hall. The high table where Danny sat, was for the King, his family, and his closest advisors. Three long tables were at right angles to the high table like tines on a fork. Lords, Ladies, diplomats sat before them. Steve recognised some and could infer the identity of others. Ambassador Grover from the Haighlei Kingdom sat at the middle table with his family. A mated pair of wolven Kyree. The tall, ethereal Tayledras were easily the most extravagantly, and colourfully dressed. Kono lifted her goblet in salute. An unknown Mage of the White Winds House out of Rethwellan, only identifiable by the cut of his clothes, was likely Jaffrey, the Rethwellen diplomat. 

Danny passed Steve a tiny vial of the Tincture of Verity and an ornate pill box without any rigmarole -- just like when they had been at Home Farm.

The King -- the King of Valdemar -- monitored his medicines. 

Danny looked after him. 

_What?_ Danny asked with the shrug of his shoulders. Steve looked down at his own lap, sitting on the chair on the right-hand side of the King of Valdemar and looked back at Danny. He was regarding him patiently, and fondly. 

“You’re--” Oh, and Steve suddenly -- belatedly -- realised how fundamentally important Danny was to him, as if it was tattooed on his heart with the sharpest needle ever honed. He was such a Turnip Head; why had it taken him so long?

Simply: he loved Danny. 

“Babe?” 

A shocking riot of colour exploded across his senses. 

“NO!” Steve hollered. For one mere fraction of a fraction of a heartbeat, Steve was confused, caught up in his abrupt realisation about Danny. But this was an attack. He cast, fast, trained -- he was a Battle Mage. He was honed by year after year on the Northern borders; skirmish after battle, clash after mêlée. His reactions to threat were constantly balanced on a knife point. 

Danny was the target of the attack. 

Fire rained down on them, the high table disintegrating. Splinters shattered over the room. 

Steve shielded and retaliated in the same instant, because he was simply that good. 

Jaffrey of Rethwellen bowed under Steve’s fiery onslaught. The diplomat of the Haighlei Kingdom protected his family with a shield of pure silver. Aristocrats scattered left and right from the fire storm. The Tayledras diplomat caught a young woman and spirited her out of the mêlée. Jaffrey retaliated and Steve was forced back a body length even as he grounded into the stone floor. Steve gritted his teeth, arms outstretched, fingers practically touching his shield, and weaved his defence, defence of Danny thrown from his chair, sprawled at Steve’s feet. 

Danny was bleeding. 

A shard of wood pierced his abdomen. 

Jaffrey had hurt Danny. 

He was going to destroy them all. Rain terror. Steve pulled the energies from the Heartstone far beneath his feet. He felt himself start to levitate. Lightning arched around his body. He knew that he was glowing. Jaffrey paled in the face of an angry, Adept-level Battle Mage, who had forgotten more than he could ever know. 

“Steven, no!” Danny ordered. 

Lightning crackled around Steve’s clenched fists. 

But he held fast under his King’s orders. 

Frantic, Jaffrey drew on his innate energies, arms windmilling as he sought to render a terrified defence. Jaffrey could see that his attack had failed, and that his position was untenable. Steve could sense mage energy building inside the Mage. Jaffrey had realised that his only option was a Final Strike. 

“Never. Never again!” Steve screamed. He saw and felt the Tayledras Mage, Kono’s master, spin a barrier of pure force across the entire breadth of the Hall protecting all the people behind him under his mantling wing. Ambassador Grover extended his own shield in a mirror, opposite to the Tayledras, trying to protect the other side of the Hall. But a Final Strike could obliterate the entire palace if triggered in an enclosed space. 

The diplomats had, however, created a funnel. 

“Lyft sy þe in bǽlwylm ac forhienan se wiðere!” Steve melded fire and lightning, and cast putting his heart and soul, and all his love for Danny into the magic. 

Conflagration. 

The blast propelled Jaffrey clear through the massive oak double doors, through the four foot thick stone wall behind and into the open space high above the courtyard beyond.

“Shield!” Ambassador Grover bellowed, even as his own shield moved out into the courtyard following the extension of his will. The Tayledras matched the ambassador. 

Senses heightened, Steve could feel their protection overlaying as much of the palace as possible, but scooping under the suspended Mage. Steve added his own strength to the layers, just as Jaffrey exploded. 

The detonation smashed against the diplomats’ shield, roiled against the curve and vomited out over the palace. Windows shattered, fire rolled and banked up against walls designed for sieges. The uproar beat against Steve’s senses. 

Then silence. 

Steve dropped to the floor and straight down to his knees, purely stunned. The world echoed in his head, and he knew that the headache that was going to descend on him in any moment was going to be outstanding. But first --

“Danny!” 

Danny lay where he had fallen, pinned by the foot long shard of oak wood penetrating his gut. He was the colour of snow. On his knees, Steve scuttled across to Danny’s side and reached for the shard. 

“No!” The Tayledras Mage grabbed Steve’s wrist. “Do not pull it out. You could kill him.” 

**End part seven**

~*~


	8. Lien de vie

**Part eight**

Steve froze, hand a finger-width from the shard spearing Danny. The Mage crouching beside him was a deep calm well of power -- power drawn from the Haven Heartstone. He was indeed a Tayledras Healer Adept, Steve noted. A Mage of vast power and practised experience. 

“Listen to the man,” Danny grated. He was breathing, harsh and sure, in and out. “Gods.” 

“My name is Treasured Vast Water,” the Mage said, releasing Steve. “Or you could call me Chin Ho, it is somewhat similar.” 

“What do you prefer?” Steve asked, somewhat inanely. 

“I don’t mind.” Chin set his palm on Danny's forehead. He closed his eyes, concentrating. 

Pain leached from Danny’s face, lines smoothing. He let out a tiny sigh and his breathing eased. 

Steve stripped off his silk tunic and wadded the fabric around the shard. The black colour didn't show the blood, but Danny's Herald’s Whites beneath were crimson.

“I do not want to do a complicated Healing here,” Chin Ho spoke quietly. “I need a stretcher. But we have to ensure that his Majesty doesn't move.” 

“Nagar,” Danny said, somehow finding calm, “see to the people and the palace while I am being Healed.”

“Yes, Mi'Lord.” Nagar rose from the floor with an ease that belied his age. He brushed wood fragments off his Whites. “Steve, stay with Danny.”

As if he was going to do anything else. The man was going senile.

Palace Healers descended. The Tayledras Healing Adept orders for a stretcher were repeated. The most senior Healer on the Hill appeared as if Fetched. For one mad moment Steve thought that there was going to be a battle over who got to Heal the King.

“This man,” Steve growled deep and low, lightning wreathing his head, “is a Tayledras Healer, and an Adept. He is capable of practically raising the dead. On the best day of your life you could only have a tenth of his skill.”

“Steven,” Danny said, through gritted teeth, “reign it in. Healer Costa, the Tayledras Adept can Heal me.”

“Your Majesty,” Costa began.

“It's hardly the time to argue,” Danny said pointedly. “Steven, no!”

Steve dissipated the ball of lightning gaining momentum around his head.

“Yes, Majesty,” Costa said, and finally his coterie of Healers moved in to help the King.

~*~ 

Steve was not going to be shifted from Danny's side by any force. The Healers had carried Danny to a clean, thoroughly scrubbed room in the Healers Hall. Chin had dismissed all the onlookers bar Kono, Costa, and another Healer, who said nothing and watched from the corner of the room. Steve could feel the woman’s presence as an immense reservoir of Healing energy and understood why she had not been dismissed.

“Herald Steven,” Costa said, “it would be best if you moved aside and gave us space to work.”

“No,” Chin disagreed, “the presence of a lifebonded mate can only help.”

Lifebonded? What?

“Turnip Head,” Danny muttered, and clenched down harder on Steve's hand, telegraphing his distress. The Healers were controlling his pain but he was as white as the cut of his discarded tunic.

“Growing a new kidney requires a lot of Healing,” Chin said.

Chin splayed his hands on either side of the revealed wound. The shard still stood proud of Danny’s pale waxy skin and blood matted hair. Steve couldn't look at it. His hand was going numb, Danny was gripping so hard. Beneath, the strength, however, he could feel Danny’s very life bleeding away. The damage was severe. 

“Chin Ho,” Steve readied himself for yelling.

“Kono,” Chin spoke, “please draw out the fragment and material as I repair the damage. Healer Costa, if you could control the bleeding around the wound as I Heal.”

“Of course.” Costa moved to the end of the gurney. He rested his hand on Danny’s bare foot. His expression smoothed into meditative calmness.

Steve willed all his energy into Danny demanding Healing -- careful, precise and accurate Healing.

He gave it his all. 

Live. Live. Live, went the litany in his head. Danny was doing the harsh breathing thing, even as the Healers worked to control his pain. 

“Kono, ensure that all the foreign material is removed, both wood splinters and fabric,” Chin instructed. “Otherwise they can be a source of infection and disease.” 

Steve could feel his heart beating in his chest, both their hearts. The headache that he knew was on the horizon threatened. 

“Steve,” Danny slurred, “move back a bit. You know, what I mean. Steve? Move back.” 

“No.” Steve was resolute. 

“Healer Cay,” Chin said, “If you please.” 

The powerhouse stepped into the fray. Her energy was akin to standing under an ice melt water fall, shocking and refreshing. It was hard to concentrate under the onslaught. Steve blanked in the whiteness.

~*~

_Crocuses and kisses. Danny loved him and he loved Danny. Danny was his best friend. Danny? Danny’s crocuses meant love._

“Turnip Head. Turnip Head,” Danny’s voice was singsong. Fingers were playing with his hair. 

“Danny?” Steve lifted his head. He was slumped, sitting next to Danny lying on the bed, and his head had been pillowed on their clasped hands. 

“You’re awake.” Danny smiled. 

“What? Are you? Danny!” Steve sat up so fast his neck cracked loudly. 

Danny was slightly propped up on white pillows and warmly wrapped in pristine white blankets. He was smiling, softly. His colour was still washed out, but now he wasn’t as pale as his Herald’s Whites. 

“Shush! Calm. I’m fine.” Danny squeezed Steve’s hand, stopping his worrying. “Honest.” 

Steve slumped back into his chair, breath hissing out between his clenched teeth. Unknown bruises from Jaffrey’s attack made themselves known. 

“Crocuses?” 

Nagar suddenly was within the sphere of Steve’s focus. How long had the Monarch’s Own been sitting there -- opposite Steve on the other side of Danny? Comfortable in an armchair, cup of tisane in his hands, he had been sitting there a long time. Somehow they had been removed from the theatre to a private room. Steve had no recollection.

“Crocus kisses?” Nagar grinned merrily. 

Steve glowered at the elderly man. He must have been sleep talking. 

“Leave him alone,” Danny groused. “He’s had a hard day.”

“Yes, Your Majesty. Of course, Your Majesty.” Nagar was grinning fit to burst. 

“You’re an evil old man.” Danny waved his free hand idly. “Steve is awake; I don’t need protecting anymore. Go away.” 

“Protecting?” Steve pounced on the word. “Jaffrey. Why? Who was he working with?” 

Nagar sobered. “He was working with Lord Popper. Popper has confirmed it. The Rethwellen sheep, of course, smoothing their way.” 

“Seriously, the sheep?” Danny groused. “I almost died because of those damn sheep?” 

Nagar took a long slurp of his tea, finishing it off. He huffed, pensive. 

“There seems to be a confusion which Mistress Trey may have inadvertently compounded. In Rethwellen there’s a disease called scabies, which is a rash caused by a mite,” Nagar said. “It’s only found in their hot southern districts. But there is also old, old records of a disease called scrapies, which reputably made people mad.” 

“Scabies,” Danny tried the words on his tongue. “Scrapies.”

“Neither of which are found in Valdemar. So when we were asking the Rethwellen authorities through our diplomat in their capital about scabies it was akin to asking about, I don’t know, nettle rash.” Nagar shook his head at the Rethwellens’ lacklustre response to serious questions. “However, when I asked Jade to find out about any disease called scrapies, she finally made some headway -- the Rethwellens have no records of the disease in living memory but they advise killing the sheep and burning the carcasses.”

“Sheep,” Steve summarised. “But why? Popper was certainly about making money. What was the reason? Jaffrey wasn’t about profit? ” 

“We believe, albeit it is difficult to prove, that he was thinking of long term destabilisation of the country.” Nagar set his cup aside. “We were not supposed to find out about the sheep as quickly as we did. Thanks to his Majesty we quarantined them almost immediately. Remember more flocks were turned back at the border. The markets would have been flooded with these diseased sheep. Popper thinking once the disease became prevalent, the Healers would cure it, but until then his clean sheep would sell at a high price. Jaffrey had Popper in his pocket to ensure that they entered the country.”

“And the sheep would have lived and bred for years before they showed the disease, spreading the contagion all the while.” Steve sagged, tiredly. 

“I don’t quite believe it,” Danny said. “I mean, it makes sense. They were Rethwellen sheep. It’s kind of diabolical.” 

“The King of Rethwellen has disavowed any link with the plan, and has declared that Jaffrey must have been insane.” 

“Convenient.” Steve squeezed Danny’s hand. 

“Certainly, to commit suicide over the affair by Final Strike is, well, overkill.” Nagar winced at his own pun. “If Popper had simply implicated Jaffrey as being a co-conspirator we would have only been able to expel Jaffrey from Valdemar.”

“So why the… attack?” Steve couldn’t say the words Final Strike. 

“I didn’t really know him,” Danny mused. “He struck me as a watcher. He was quiet.” 

“The Rethewellens are known to be somewhat--” Nagar pursed his lips, clearly hunting for the correct word, “--intolerant of same-sex pairings. His actions in the Dining Hall may have been fuelled by hatred.”

“Right.” A cold, hard mass formed in Steve’s stomach. Irrational, hatred-driven, close-minded people were the bane of civilisation and those he loved. 

“Hey. Hey.” Danny curled his fingers tighter into Steve’s fist. “It’s just a guess. Let it go. Come on. We’d also foiled his plan; that had to have got his goat.” 

Steve stared at Danny -- hurt, and healing. He had been so close to bleeding out. 

“Babe,” Danny said authoritatively, “Let it go. You obliterated the bastard.”

Yes, he had, Steve thought, satisfied. 

Danny read his mind, and shot him the most exasperated of looks. 

“I will continue the investigation.” Nagar patted Danny’s shoulder, and then stood, a little slower than normal. The elderly man had also been at the High Table and in the forefront of Jaffrey’s attack. He was likely a little bruised, at the least. “There may be other conspirators. Lord Popper is helping with the investigation; he does not want to be accused of treason.” 

“Understandable,” Steve said. If convicted, Popper’s entire family estate and coffers would be impounded for the Crown’s purpose, and his family left with only a pittance. He probably wouldn’t survive very long being put to work building roads in the Northern Territories. 

“Okay, son,” Nagar said familiarly, “I’ll leave you to rest. Steve, look after him.” 

“Yes,” Steve said simply. He didn’t need telling. 

Nagar nodded, and took himself out of the room, closing the door firmly behind him. 

“Danny?” Steve said, putting all his fears into one word. 

“Hey, Babe, I’m fine.” 

Steve scrutinised him. He didn’t look fine. He looked pale and worn. 

“I promise.” Danny pushed down his blankets with his free hand, showing the stretch of his abdomen. Low on the left side, amidst the hirsute covering was a new, shiny red scar a good hand span in length. “It’s Healed, well, healing. They don’t completely Heal things; they just give you a really big push.” 

Steve reached out, and almost touched the scar. He froze. 

“Chin Ho said that he had to grow a new kidney,” Steve said. 

“Hyperbole.” Danny rolled his eyes. “What did he say? It was lacerated. A lot of blood. A _lot_ of blood. Kidneys bleed a lot, apparently. A lot of healing. He said something about my intestines, but I stopped listening then. I mean -- intestines.”

Steve winced. A gut wound was possibly the nastiest way to die, when your own wounded body poisoned you to death. He had seen it on the battlefield more than once. 

“Steve, stop dwelling. I’m here. I’m Healed.” Danny pulled the blankets back up hiding the scar. “You were outstanding. I’ve never seen anything like it. How’s your head?” 

As subject changes went it was a little gauche, but Steve went along. Steve mentally poked where his headache should be, like tonguing the hole left over from an extracted tooth. Sore but not excruciating. 

“I just feel its… passage?” He cracked his neck to the side, loudly. “I think I slept through it?” 

“That’s good. That’s a good sign that your Mage Channels are well healed,” Danny noted. He squeezed their clasped hands, again. 

“I guess?” Steve nodded. After using the Heartstone under Haven, to contact Herald Roman on the southern border, he had fallen into a well of misery. He felt concerned and anxious, but didn’t feel the weight of nothingness starting to press against him. The relief at that thought was strangely chilling. 

“Doesn’t mean that you should stop taking your medicines,” Danny said intently, staring at him. 

Healer Garivald had impressed on Steve very strongly that the medicines could not simply be stopped, and might be a lifelong treatment. It appeared that she had had the same conversation with Danny. 

“I am getting better, though, aren’t I?” Steve had to have that hope. 

“I think so,” Danny judged. He swallowed hard. “I _know_ so.”

“Danny?” Steve could only say, in the face of that confidence. 

“Turnip Head.” 

“You knew, why didn’t you say?” Steve asked. 

“Pah.” Danny drew Steve’s clasped hand to his lips and brushed a kiss over his knuckles. 

“How can we have a lifebond and I didn’t know?” Steve continued. 

“You know that we missed each other every day since our duties separated us,” Danny said seriously. 

Steve watched him like a mouse watching a cat. 

“Now isn’t the time to couch words with misdirections and intimations,” Danny said solidly. “You need honesty and truth. I missed you and you never left my thoughts.”

“But--” 

“Did you forget about me?” 

Steve shook his head. “But you’re the King. And…?” 

“I may be the King. And I may have to father a heir, but to admit anyone other than you, Steven of House McGarrett, into my heart, would be an insult in the eyes of all the Gods and Goddess that We of Valdemar hold dear.” 

“What are you saying?” Steven wanted to go and hide under the bed, to avoid this emotion. 

“What we feel, you unempathic lout--” Danny patted over his heart -- “and have always felt is a _lifebond_. Always together, never apart, no matter how far we travel.” 

“Oh,” Steve said. “Oh.” 

“It has become more, I don’t know the word -- crystalline? -- since you came back to Haven,” Danny said euphemistically, not mentioning Rem’s death. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Steve was a little appalled at the whine in his tone. 

“You, Turnip Head; I did it because I love you.” 

“I don’t understand.”

He didn’t understand. Danny had been with him as he had practically drowned in the misery of Rem’s death and the weight of years on the front protecting Valdemar, when he had been so depressed that he wished himself dead. He still missed Remayne more than he could convey. But now when the emptiness wasn’t as vast, he knew that he had been deeply wounded and had been hurting. And Danny had to have hurt with him; they had a lifebond. Danny should have said something, impressed on Steve that his pain was hurting, and threatening Danny’s very own self. 

“You should have told me.” He couldn’t find anger. His illness had taken a toll on Danny, belatedly, he understood Danny’s hovering, his tears and exhaustion. Of course, Danny hurt, he hurt with those he… loved. A lifebond was secondary to that fact. 

They were _partners._

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Steve asked, a little plaintively. 

“Ah.” Danny slipped his hand free, and cupped Steve’s cheek. “Any other occasion I would. I wasn’t keeping secrets, Babe. You had to figure it out on your own.”

And he had just before Jaffrey had attacked. 

“But why?” Steve persisted, because he was he was so far out of this depth, he needed it to be spelled out, clearly and concisely. 

“To truly heal, you needed to live for _you_ \--” Danny hooked his hand around Steve’s neck and pulled him close, “--not to choose to live for me.”

“Oh,” Steve finally understood. 

He let Danny draw him down into their first kiss. 

_**fin** _


End file.
